


Road Whose Course Does Not Turn Back

by zobo07



Series: Droon [1]
Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 88,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zobo07/pseuds/zobo07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight months after Pacific Run, S.P.I.E.D. investigation turns up suspicious activity at a long-dormant dig site that could hold the key to both the past and the future. With the help of old case contacts, Nancy Drew must find out what's going on… and brace herself as a battle between the personal and professional arises among the chaos of newfound feelings. Continuation of Answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is also up on Fanfiction! However, because I've had a bit of trouble posting the author's notes, you'll have to go to Fanfiction if you want to read them. Apologies. But there's an upside--you don't have to hear me prattle on! :P Hope you enjoy!

On the afternoon of February 27, the blue sky was calling. Nancy lay on her bed with her arms splayed above her head. It would have been nice to stay at home, sit for a little while, enjoy the time between cases (however briefly it lasted), and be reminded that a second was only as short or as long as it lingered in the mind. However, as usual, there was too much to cover before enjoying herself. For the day she had to stay in the house to match and retain the gravity of her rumination. A minute in the lovely, cheery outdoors, and all good thought would float up from her like a balloon.

But memories of yesterday jutted involuntarily into her peace of mind.

* * *

 

_A football sailed over the blue convertible._

_Nancy smiled wanly as she started up the engine and pulled out of the driveway, watching her rearview. The kids waited until she was halfway down the street before doddering over to her backyard, carrying their childish din farther from her ears._

_She loved River Heights._

_Of course, she had to love it… she was born here, and, for the time being, it looked like she would be spending a lot more time here. This most recent case felt like it would be her last—at least, the last of its type._

_Blinking as a strand of titian hair blew into her face, Nancy turned on the radio to stop her thoughts. She had already given this plenty of deliberation, certainly enough to be considered well-informed when she arrived in Bayport._

_Most of the time Nancy found her mind preoccupied with the latest… just because the investigation stopped didn't mean her thoughts did. So if the day had been full of ivory chunks and poacher profiles, it would have been a very normal day, indeed._

_But of course nothing was that cut and dried._

_The images plaguing her now were eight months old._

_Nancy lay her head against the headrest and put the car on cruise control._

_Funny how you didn't know your life had been on the rail until derailing, now as her life's calling started slipping away._

_A familiar voice on the radio caught her ear. She turned it up._

_"-any indications as to which way the network is leaning?"_

_" Light Of Our Love is still going strong, I'm happy to report," a male voice replied. "We haven't heard from the network yet, but we're hopeful for the green light for next season!"_

_Light Of Our Love_ _…?_

_"It's been announced that Serena is leaving the show after this season. How has her departure affected the star element? Can we expect to see any new names for this show?"_

_Serena! It sounded so familiar, Nancy mused._

_"It's still too early to tell," the interviewee laughed. "And somehow I'm always the last one to know about these things."_

_"This is Pattie Williams reporting from WWB in New York. Thank you for talking to me, Rick."_

_A switch turned on in her mind. Rick Arlen! Of course! It had been..._

_Nancy paused._

_Exactly how long had it been?_

_She sighed and switched off the radio._

_The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Nancy tried to concentrate on the road. Usually someone called, making it easier._

_Usually Ned._

_Nancy bit her lip._

_Ned…_

_In any case, no one called._

_In any case, she had more important worries now._

_When the "Welcome to Bayport" sign swept past her, Nancy was prepared. Soon she was pulling into the Hardy's driveway as Frank and Joe played football in the backyard. She perked up a bit. They always managed to cheer her up, even without saying anything._

_Fenton Hardy stood on the porch, and now he came down to greet her._

_"Hello!" Nancy smiled brightly and shook his hand. "Thank you for talking to me."_

_Fenton returned the smile. "Always a pleasure, Nancy."_

_"Hi Nancy!" Joe called._

_She waved at him before Fenton led her into the house and then into the living room. He gestured to the seat opposite him. She sat._

_"How did your last case go?"_

_"Kind of shaky. A hard one to solve. I had to stay on my toes." Nancy clasped her hands in her lap. "I thought it was a little weird at first. Like maybe I was getting worse at solving cases. And that would be strange… I've been solving cases since I was sixteen."_

_"And you're how old now? Twenty?"_

_Nancy nodded. "It's gotten difficult." She moved her thumb back and forth over the back of her other hand. "After I thought about it, it seems most likely that I'm just less believable as a teenager. More people are recognizing me, anyway. On that last case my cover was almost blown. The people whom I was investigating were suspicious from the get-go, and I had to solve it fairly quickly, since what little trust they had could fall away so easily. And it's so easy to do background checks nowadays. Last week I was visiting my friend in Vermont, and people looked at me as if they knew who I was." Nancy laughed. "That was a big tip-off."_

_"Seems the news of your work has spread," Fenton said wryly._

_"Unfortunately." She looked down, surprised by a small red crescent on the spot just vacated by her thumb. "I'm afraid I'll never be able to work in the same way again."_

_"That's life." Fenton leaned back in his chair. "I left NYPD and moved here when Frank and Joe were quite young. Nothing like looking into the eyes of your sons when a case has gone sour. I knew I had to keep them safe; it wasn't just about me and Laura anymore."_

_"I've thought a little about options," said Nancy, forcing her hands still. "Until now, college wasn't possible. I would have been away too much. I'm not sure how much it would help at this point. How much of it do you think would be valuable to me, Fenton?"_

_"Hmmm." Fenton's mouth tightened in a contemplative frown. "Studying criminology or forensics could help, I suppose. One has a social focus while the other is scientific. So if you did choose to study criminology, psychology would couple well with that. However…" He paused. "Those are designed to prepare students for a career in investigation, as well as other disciplines, but for your sake we'll focus on that. You already have years' worth of practical knowledge and experience, so I'm not sure how useful four years of studying criminology will be. You might learn a little more in the forensics program because it is a more specific study and you might know less about it, but, again, it comprises merely part of the skill set for this type of work, work at which you've already proven yourself to be proficient. Of course extra knowledge doesn't hurt, but the question is in whether that knowledge is worth four years of study, some of which will be overlap."_

_"Okay." Nancy said. "And I think it's too early for me to start off as a private investigator. I'm still too young."_

_"I agree." Fenton looked at her. "And I'm guessing that this is your main point of concern?"_

_"Too old to continue what I'm doing right now and too young to keep going in the same career path? Yeah, that's pretty much it. I'm looking for some sort of bridge, I suppose."_

_"Have you considered police work?"_

_"Yeah, I have." Nancy bit her lip. "Most private investigators start off that way, I know. You did."_

_"What do you think about it?"_

_"I don't know. I've done so much already, it feels like it might be a bit the same… and without the travel, you know? It feels a little inhibiting." She looked up quickly. "Not that I don't think police work is useful or admirable, I'm just not sure if it's for me—at least right now. And on the other hand, a lot of my friends have started going to college. I've always been curious about that."_

_"Do you think that would be better for you at this point?"_

_Nancy opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. For a moment she sat, trying to reconcile the quiet in the room with the clamor of her thoughts. Then she tried again. "I don't know what I think. Or what I want. I'm comfortable with what I'm doing, and I'm not sure which choice will be easier to adapt to. If I go to college, I'll probably wind up studying at the police academy anyway. At the same time, I'm not sure how I feel about doing the same things in the same locations right now. It seems…"_

_"Boring?" Fenton grinned. "It can be. Especially before you get out of uniform. Patrol is hardly ever fun."_

_"Mmmm-hmmm," Nancy said, trying not to frown._

_"However, working on the force will give you credibility as a private investigator. It will show that you know how to work with others—most likely you'll be working with a partner—it will give you access to sophisticated forensics equipment and teach you how to use it, and it will encourage you to hone and develop your investigating methods. You've already built a name for yourself, but this would even further strengthen your reputation."_

_Nancy's mind raced. She needed to at least consider police work, she told herself. After all, it had been good enough for Fenton for a long, long time. It would offer an added skill set, and it was obviously his favorite choice. Still… "I could be a reporter," she added aloud. "Mom did that for a while."_

_"You could," said Fenton. "That provides good training for your investigation methods, as well. Journalism places a high emphasis on ethics and objectivity, both important in knowing your boundaries and ensuring that you are always fair with those whom you investigate. Also, the objectivity helps in clearing your head from any sympathies with suspects. Those focuses give a definite precision to your investigations. When you consider all possibilities equally, even the ones you dislike, you will always find the truth or what is closest to the truth."_

_She nodded slowly. It sounded promising, especially the "fair sleuthing" bit. She had a bad habit of looking through other people's bags without permission, which was probably illegal. Was it illegal? The question had been itching at her mind for the last few years now, but she was always too tired to remember to check. By the time she did remember, she was already on another case. And investigative reporters had to obtain their information legally; if not, it couldn't go into what they wrote afterward._

_But the contents of those bags had been instrumental to solving the cases in a timely manner, so what would the solution be to that? The lawful one? Nancy winced. Damned if she knew. It just meant that she had to find other ways, lawful ways, and to do that, she would have to become a better detective. More observant._

_There was still so much she needed to learn. Nancy felt a headache coming on. Now all of the options sounded good. "Are there any other plausible options you can think of?" she asked._

_"A rather simple one," Fenton said right away. "Talk to your father. See what he can tell you. You won't need to represent or fight anyone in court, obviously, but if you know how a criminal might think, that would be helpful in reconstructing or even solving a crime. Chances are, such dialogue won't go on your resume, but people will know you by your name. You've got that connection—use it," Fenton said. "As a matter of fact, you have to be twenty-one to enroll in the police academy. If you decide to go that route, you've got a little downtime."_

_Nancy smiled. "Thanks. As it is, I think I'll have a little downtime anyway, since I have a lot to consider."_

_"You certainly do." Fenton replied with a spark in his eye. "Try not to be too worried. Change is exciting. You may not feel stable right now, but remember that you're still quite young."_

_"I will. Thanks, Fenton!"_

_"Anytime, Nancy. I wish you the best of luck."_

_They shook hands again, and Nancy left. Frank and Joe had gone. She was too tired to talk, anyway. An eight-hour drive took a lot out of anyone._

* * *

 

Stifling a yawn, Nancy stretched her arms up and back. She had left early this morning and returned just two hours ago, going straight to her room. She hadn't moved since.

She had fought it. Bed is for sleeping, she told herself. Desk is for making decisions.

But—

The yawn forced its way on her.

That was her answer.

She turned onto her side. Everything was changing in her professional life—

And in her personal life—

Shutting her eyes tight, Nancy forced herself to think of something else. She and Ned had made their choices. No use thinking of what if.

Back to the present dilemma, the professional life, the vibes that told her that continuing on such shaky ground could be dangerous—

It was odd, but they weren't the kind of vibes that scared her. They just gave her straight knowledge, the feeling that if she went on doing the same thing she always had, someone would catch her, which would result either in her being taken off the case or stuck in a situation she might not be able to get herself out of.

That would put a damper on productivity for sure.

But what about all the cases that would just slip by, and all the trouble that wouldn't be stopped—

No. Nancy gritted her teeth. She needed this time. Every second of spare time she had before the next case was precious. And now, with more calls than ever, the next case could be tomorrow or the day after that.

And she would be no good to any client until she got these problems ironed out.

Her eyes snapped open.

That was it. She would go on hiatus. No more cases until this was all sorted out.

No matter who called.

That way the torrent of problems would stop for long enough for her to think.

Sufficient progress, she told herself, and breathed and sank back into the covers. Already she was losing consciousness as her head hit the pillow.

"Nancy?"

She jolted.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"You've got a visitor." Carson called up the stairs.

She sat up. "A visitor? Who?"

"I don't think he's from around here."

That tipped her off. Nancy hopped off her bed and left her room.

"He told me his name when he called. I believe he said it was—"

Making quick work of the stairs, Nancy greeted her father as she passed him and redirected her attention to someone standing in front of the piano, looking away. Windows washed out the drawing room. Her vision began to readjust as the figure turned.

And as she saw, she stopped.

"Sonny Joon," she muttered.

He had kept the purple frames for his glasses, and that was about all he had kept.

Mainly since his hair was orange like the sun. A bright, light shade, the kind you got from looking at it for too long.

And she couldn't help but notice how it brought out his brown eyes—

Nancy cleared her throat. "Sonny Joon. Good to see you." I guess, she added to herself.

"Likewise!" Sonny grinned. "This is official business. Want to grab pancakes?"


	2. Chapter 2

As usual, curiosity plagued Nancy. Why had he come here? Was he in the area? Was it—she closed her eyes—a case?

So soon after she had decided she wasn't taking any?

Nancy winced. She was less experienced at refusing cases than she was at solving them.

And was it strictly business… or something else?

Nancy wasn't sure which she preferred.

"How'd you get here?" She asked as they drove to Pancake City.

"Flew into Akron-Canton, took a shuttle into Canton. Drove the remaining fifteen miles here. Kept on the lookout for food since I haven't eaten all day, place where we could sit and talk. Pancake City looked good."

"You do realize it's the afternoon?"

"Of course," Sonny replied lightly.

"Where did you fly in from?"

"D.C."

"Why?"

"I," Sonny's eyes darted sideways, "had some unfinished business."

Nancy kept her eyes trained on him. "You going to tell me what that unfinished business is?"

"Yes." Sonny flashed her an uneven grin. "After I tell you everything else."

As evasive as always. Nancy drummed her fingers against the side of the seat. "Would it have killed you to have called?" she asked.

"Well, you see…" Sonny began, "I didn't think I'd be needing you until a few hours ago. I do apologize for the late notice. I was able to find your home line in the online yellow pages for River Heights, but you weren't there. And I didn't have your cell. Your father said that you were expected back in a few hours and that I could drop by when I got here."

"Right," Nancy said, looking forward. "I was still driving back."

"From?" Sonny glanced over at her.

"Seeing a friend," she replied.

"He seemed wary until I mentioned my name." Sonny said after a pause. "Tell him about me?"

"I tell him about people who are generally trustworthy, yes." Nancy turned her head and looked at him. "Though for you it's a stretch."

Sonny sucked in air through his teeth. "Ouch."

"It's a precaution to avoid running into people who have a grudge against me."

"Well, I do have a grudge against you." Sonny grinned at the road. "You get all the Koko Kringles you want for free for the rest of your life."

"Ah, now that's a deep grudge," Nancy replied. "You must be nefarious."

"Any chance that, if this goes well, you'll give some of them to me?"

"Probably not," she said.

"Is that negotiable?"

"No."

"Well, I understand the precautions you take with your safety." Sonny turned into the parking lot of Pancake City. "But I certainly don't understand the precautions you take with your candy."

"What do you mean?" Nancy asked as she got out of the car.

"Bess told me you keep them in a locked cabinet."

"I do." She walked ahead.

"Nobody wants to steal my Koko Kringle bars," Sonny said sadly. "It seems that a general appreciation for them is lacking."

Grateful that Sonny couldn't see her at this point, Nancy unsuccessfully tried to stifle a smile. She had to admit that this beat driving alone.

In the restaurant they were seated immediately. Apparently Friday afternoons weren't too crowded. Soon someone came to take their order.

"May I have the Pancake Cite Supreme combo with a side of fruit, please? The ham and cheese omelette and two pancakes? Also, a coffee." Nancy smiled when the waiter nodded. "Thank you."

"Five pancakes with chocolate syrup, please." Sonny looked up. "And do you have grape juice?"

The waiter left and was soon back with their drinks.

"So, to what do I owe the… pleasure?" Her eyes scanned him from head to elbows to table.

Sonny picked up on her hesitance. "What?" He asked quietly—almost bashfully, if Nancy let her imagination run away from her. "Is it the hair?"

"No, Sonny, it's not the hair. Although," she gestured to it with half a laugh and half a scoff, "orange?"

"Orange."

Silence.

"So," Sonny mixed his grape juice vigorously with his straw, "how have you been?"

Nancy nodded. "Good, good. Busy with cases, you know."

"Yeah, cases." Sonny echoed, looking down when juice sloshed onto his hand and the tip of his sleeve. "Uh, does this stuff come out?"

"It's probably about ten percent juice, so I'd say yeah."

"Good to know."

"How have you been?" Nancy asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I've been." Sonny reached for a napkin. "Been doing… things."

"Yeah? Why did you come to River Heights?" She asked, staring him down as he did so.

"To talk to you," Sonny replied, looking briefly up at her.

"I gathered." She replied coolly, fighting the temptation to look at her watch. However many (or few, more appropriately) minutes had passed, she was already sick of his literalisms.

Sonny sighed dramatically. "Guess we're past the niceties, then. You want the details?"

"Yes."

"Grandpa Jin's lead turned out. We only needed to spend two weeks there before finding another piece." Sonny looked down at his drink and shrugged with a little smile on his lips. "Or something that explained the piece, rather. They're still working on translating it. Might be more information on the artifact we've found. Jin pieced together the operating instructions for the compass, but we've got little historical background about it or how the Māori viewed its significance. In hindsight, it's fortunate that Jin found as much as he did without the other information. Normally you find the information about something's significance before finding that something, since it usually _introduces_ that something. What's odd is that he pieced it together from various parts of the world, and the artifact obviously dates from a time which would make transpacific travel almost impossible. So it seems that these other cultures heard about the device without ever seeing it."

"Or maybe it's a coincidence and in all cases it's a generic device being described," Nancy interrupted. "Or possible mistranslation."

Sonny laughed. "Unfailing realism. I like you. Anyway, the relic we found appears to use the actual Proto-Germanic language. The current Proto-Germanic language wasn't actually used; it's mostly reconstructed from patterns of development in newer languages. It's older than Norse, we know that. Probably older than Proto-Norse, although it's hard to tell because Proto-Germanic and Proto-Norse are so similar and the text we found was incomplete. There's very, very little of it, as a matter of fact. Hardly enough to comprise a definitive sample of any ancient language."

"Then what makes you so sure?"

Sonny shrugged again. "Call it a hunch. Most of the relics we find predate 200 C.E. That's around the time when the Proto-Germanic language developed into Proto-Norse. In any case, our find is pretty significant, but because it's incomplete it's not as big a deal to the archaeological community."

"Wow," Nancy said flatly. "Bit of a boring story to come all the way out here to tell me in person." Apparently he had higher priorities than telling her right away anyway, since it had been eight months, she noted with annoyance. Despite the uselessness of the visit, however, she was relieved that this didn't appear to be a case proposal. He had come for, in his words, niceties, judging by the way he was trying too hard to be friendly. So her hiatus still stood. Although…

What if it was something else?

"That's not the story," Sonny said quickly. "Well, it's part of the story… actually, it's not. Just wanted you to know how that wrapped up. Another member of S.P.I.E.D. turned up an interesting bit of research."

Her heart sank. "Really?" Nancy tried to sound disinterested. To her chagrin, she was no longer merely pretending to humor him.

And no longer fooling herself in thinking she could suppress her curiosity should another opportunity for a case arise.

"There's this place called Usrique," Sonny began.

And didn't continue.

Instead he focused on something long past her. His eyes glazed over.

"Yes?" Nancy prompted.

"Hang on. Trying to figure out where to start with this story."

Placing her hands in her lap, Nancy waited. Across from her Sonny muttered to himself. Whatever this story was, she thought to herself, it had better be good. Good, as in, it had better beat that follow-up phone call with Fenton she had had to cancel as a result of this little impromptu pancake date.

She shook her head. Coffee outing. Not date.

"Yeah. Okay," Sonny straightened in his seat. "Okay. There's a lot to cover. Usrique is an ancient Mesoamerican city, dated to the third millennium B.C.E., I think. It's also a dig site. There's a dig going on there—well, there had been one for a while anyway. There are indications, and I think it might be the next step."

"Great." Nancy watched the steam in her coffee rise. "When do you get to go to the dig site?"

"Never!—or, at least, not soon—" he amended, "that's the problem!" He slumped and rested his head in his hand, looking down at the table. "It's involved. And weird. There's overlap."

As usual, Nancy had no idea what he was talking about. She found it didn't frustrate her as much as it used to; now she merely sighed and waved him on.

"Most people agree that Mayan civilization dated back to the early second millennium, late third millennium B.C.E. Around 2100 to 1800 or something like that. The stuff we've already found from the site is allegedly from the late third millennium, which is either when Mayan civilization supposedly began or slightly before that. And by slightly I mean a margin of roughly half a millennium… 'late third millennium' could be 2300, maybe. 2100 is late late third millennium." Sonny's eyes lit up again. "And if Mayan civilization started at the later time, that's about five hundred years. This site is already pushing the envelope. These are the oldest artifacts from the Americas. What's odd is that there are so many of them—you'd think they would be rare. And what's odder is that we keep finding them."

Sonny paused, thinking. When he spoke again, the spell was broken, the excitement gone from his voice. "Or, we had kept finding them," he said, returning his attention to his juice.

Nancy looked blankly at him.

"It's a gateway to an early civilization," Sonny mused, "maybe even earlier than we thought. And such an abundance of clues… It's almost as if they want us to know. Like it's time."

Nancy nodded. She knew what "they" meant—it meant the Annunaki. But just because she understood didn't mean any of this made sense. "If this is such a big deal, if this is a gateway to an earlier civilization, then why doesn't everybody know about it? Why aren't Mexican officials looking into it?"

"Because nobody's sure of the dates—they're just estimates. So the Mexican government doesn't consider this a priority, according to Alejandro."

"According to whom?"

"Alejandro. Alejandro del Rio."

Nancy blinked. "You kept contact with him?"

"No, but I called him, and he remembered me. He was the only guy I knew who might know about these artifacts and might care about their suspicious disappearances." Sonny continued. "By the time the Mexican government does consider this a priority, it might be too late. They don't, though, because the official dig there ended before carbon dating was around. And estimates can be off by hundreds of years… do you know about the Hymn to Nikkal? The oldest song we've found?" Sonny looked up at Nancy.

She shook her head.

"When it was first successfully translated in the seventies, it was estimated to date from 1800 B.C.E. Today everybody says that it's from 1400 B.C.E. Weird, huh?" He smiled. "And that was when we had carbon dating. So the same could technically be true of the artifacts excavated at Usrique. But it doesn't feel right."

"How can it not feel right?" Nancy objected. "You've never been to the site. You've got nothing to go on but the facts, which don't call for immediate suspicion. How do you know how it feels?"

Sonny bit his lip in contemplation. "Because we're connected on a planetary, on a universal level, when dealing with these ubiquitous themes and questions about human existence. Things feel a certain way no matter where you are in the world. Just because that sense is stronger in some places doesn't mean that it's nonexistent in others."

Yep. Nothing Sonny said made sense. If only Nancy could throw in the towel on this harebrained scheme; if only her curiosity didn't always get the better of her… she grimaced. "So, what's the problem? Why not go to the site?"

"The site is closed off." Sonny leaned forward. "Archaeologists were digging there for fifty years—fifty years, Nancy." His voice rose with his zeal. "And there was so much to be found that things were still turning up when they stopped in 1941."

Nancy frowned. "Why did they leave so suddenly?"

"World War II was getting hairy. They lowered the draft age, and a lot of the diggers had to go." Sonny paused. "The site hasn't been touched in over seventy years. Supposedly."

"Supposedly?" Nancy repeated.

"There's been an influx of artifacts of the ancient Americas in museums all over the world. It's been all over the news. I talked to Alejandro about it."

"And?" Nancy's voice lowered.

"A few of the artifacts have turned up in museums in D.C., and he's been investigating some of the provenance documents. They're brand new in almost every case. He contacted consulates of other cities where they've been turning up. Same thing."

"What's the significance of that?" she asked.

"They're said to have come out of ongoing digs," Sonny replied. "All of them. So why so many artifacts, and why so fast?"

"None of the digs are ones that started recently?" Nancy asked.

He shook his head.

"What's your angle here, Sonny?" Nancy crossed her arms. "Last time I saw you, you were headed for goodness knows where—"

"—Norway," he clarified. "And as for why I'm interested in this…" Sonny leaned more forward and murmured, "the goggles."

"Goggles?" Nancy sputtered. "What—"

"Shhhh!" Sonny's eyes darted around. "The Annunaki were said to wear eye-goggles for flying. Space travel."

"Why the sudden apprehension?" She raised her eyebrows. "Nobody will hear what you just said and take you seriously."

"That's what I used to think," Sonny said, jaw set. "But now… Nancy, that artifact we found. It got a lot of people's attention. And right now this is too important… they're being too secret about it; I can't have other people knowing that I want to find out about this because it might get back to them and then I'll never even be able to find out what's going on."

"I think you're being dramatic."

"Maybe I am." Sonny took a deep breath. "I need to study this civilization. I've got to."

"Then… study it," Nancy said hesitantly. "You said there's an influx of these artifacts, right? Well go to the museums and study—"

Sonny silenced her with a look. "I don't mean the texts, Nancy. I mean the civilization. I need to study it as a whole, not in bits and pieces. And in order to do that, I have to know where these artifacts are coming from."

Contemplating this, Nancy drummed her fingers against the table. "I don't know what you want me to do," she said frankly.

"Well," Sonny began, eyes darting down to his juice, "I'm not sure how much I need you at this point. You'll be out of the crossfire, so it won't be dangerous like…" he paused "Like last time."

Nancy wondered if that was concern that had flashed over his face before he moved on.

"Alejandro managed to talk the consul general into calling the governor of Yucatán. Long story short, she's allowing us to investigate. In exchange for information, they're giving us immunity."

"What do I have to do with that?" Nancy snapped, growing impatient.

"Well, um, you see," Sonny cleared his throat, "Alejandro sort of dropped your name. And the caveat is that you have to be involved."

She gawked at him. Was he serious?

"Otherwise the investigation is sort of a joke, since, um, they see us as a bunch of alien freaks. And because we have no experience in detective work."

"Well, that's your problem." Nancy rose and started to leave. "Thanks for the afternoon pancakes."

"Wait." Sonny followed her, grabbing her arm. "Nancy. Come on. No need to be so hasty, right?" Sonny smiled, but it was a nervous smile. "Just think about—"

"I'm on hiatus from cases."

Sonny froze. His smile disappeared. "Nice one. _I'm_ not that bad at lying."

Nancy whirled around. "I am not taking cases right now. That isn't a lie. It was true before you came, and it still holds."

"How long before I came?"

"Fifteen minutes." She replied defiantly.

He frowned. "Nancy, you are always on cases. If you don't want to work with me again, just say so."

"I don't want to work with you again," Nancy said. She fought to keep the surprise off her face. She'd never thought it would be that easy, turning down a case.

"Fine." Sonny turned and started to walk away.

Nancy's hands clenched in aggravation. When she heard the car door opening she trotted over. "What do you expect?" She hissed. "I'm not taking cases. Things are not great. And I really don't know why you're here right now."

Sonny's brow creased in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Why you? Why now? I don't hear from you in eight months, then suddenly you turn up and want to pretend that time hasn't passed? That we can pick up where we left off?"

His expression changed. "Oh."

Finally, _she_ was able to say something that would catch _him_ off-guard, Nancy thought to herself in satisfaction. But alas, she hadn't taken advantage of his surprise to walk away. By the time the thought had crossed her mind, it was too late.

Sonny closed his eyes and shook his head a couple of times. "That's not why I came back. I'm over it. I'm over you."

"Uh…" Nancy froze, grasping for words. "Really?"

"Yep! It was one kiss, and we really don't have that much in common. So you don't have to worry about unrequited feelings."

"Why would you assume they're unrequited?" Nancy asked before she could stop herself. Rhetorical question, she assured herself. Just her curiosity at work again.

To her relief, Sonny only shrugged.

"I'm still on hiatus from cases," she said.

Sonny shook his head. "No you're not."

Nancy closed her eyes, forced herself to be patient. She couldn't believe this guy. "I'm not taking any cases right now, okay?"

"No you're not. You're addicted. Of course, you're free to think what you want. In the meanwhile, I'll try to find someone else." He got into the car and closed the door.

"Um…" she repeated. Her mind stalled. She tried to force herself to think and work through it like she always did in a state of panic. Over her? Really? Even Ned wasn't over her this fast! He hadn't stopped calling for two weeks, although she suspected that he did that because he had felt sorry for her.

Nancy straightened. She had hated that feeling. That was the last time anybody was ever going to feel sorry for her—and claim to know more about her than she did.

But the ill feeling didn't leave her. Her heart seized as the engine started.

She rapped on the window. "Hey!"

Sonny's eyebrows rose. He rolled down the window.

"Fine!" she barked.

"Fine?" Sonny's countenance lifted. "As in, yes, you'll do it?"

"Yes," she replied, rubbing the back of her head dazedly.

"Great!" said Sonny. "I've—."

"Yes," Nancy spoke again, "but only if you tell me the truth—everything—upfront, Sonny. No surprises. I'm not getting myself involved in something without knowing exactly what you want me to do."

Sonny quickly nodded. "What I told you is honestly all I know at this point. And I already got the lecture regarding hijacking television shows and leading everyone there under false pretenses from Jamila." He paused. "I certainly understand your wanting to know everything before agreeing. Why don't you fly to Cambridge with me so we can discuss this with Henrik? Not holding you to anything."

Nancy peered down at him with pursed lips, considering.

"I wanted to call you as soon as Governor Moreno called me and asked for you on this assignment. That's why this is still in a rough stage. Maybe I jumped the gun, but I, ah," Sonny examined his hands, "I was excited."

"I know the feeling," she muttered. It wasn't the first time she had seen herself in that puzzled stare. "I'll go."

He brightened further. "Great! I've already got your plane ticket."

Nancy's eyes narrowed. "Awfully presumptuous, don't you think?"

"No. I, uh, was wondering the whole way here whether I wasted that money. So I'm just lucky."

"What time are we scheduled?"

"5:15."

"Well, looks like you managed to persuade me just in time," she said dryly. "Where to?"

"Cambridge, Massachusetts. Henrik works at Watson - Harvard's museum of art and antiquities. Needless to say, he hates me." He admitted. "But he doesn't hate you. That's the second reason for my visit."

"Probably because I didn't make a paper airplane out of the Beech Hill loan agreement." Nancy got in the car.

"Hey! It was a good idea, and I stand by it." Sonny started to drive.

"Was there an occasion?"

"Fired. I was celebrating."

"And, um, talking to Henrik, that all you need from me right now?"

"Maybe?" Sonny replied with a one-armed shrug.


	3. Chapter 3

Henrik Van Der Hune adjusted the dust mask over his mouth and nose. No matter which way it went, it was uncomfortable and left an itchy circumference around his nose and mouth. With a muffled sigh, he gave up on that endeavor and tried to focus on the stela that overspread his desk and hung a few inches off the side. It wasn't often anymore that he had to clean artifacts—in fact, he had had to run out and get a dust mask because he didn't keep them on his person anymore—but the normal person who did it had come down with the flu. Watson Museum had all the staff it needed for pinpoint specialization, plus separate people for cleaning and general maintenance to ensure that the specialists could specialize to their hearts' content.

The itchiness sank through his skin to his brain as his eyes followed the brush over the glyphs, longing to get to them, the real work. It brought him back to his Beech Hill days, and he chuckled to himself. Some things never changed.

There had been the less desirable strolls down memory lane, as well. Sonny Joon had called him a few days ago.

Perhaps he should have talked to him, but he hadn't had time. Mayan relics had a way of commanding his attention.

So much, in fact, that when two chatting people entered the room, a boy and a girl, he continued working. They weren't museum staff—he had committed the footsteps of everyone who worked here to memory—and they sounded like students. On he continued with the brush, even managing to forget in the meanwhile that he wasn't alone.

"I thought I'd better start the conversation now since you didn't look like you were going to stop anytime soon."

Henrik looked up.

A young redheaded woman stood over him with narrowed blue eyes and a little frown. "Cleaning artifacts?"

"Nancy… Drew?" he asked tentatively, standing.

The corners of Nancy's mouth rose. "It's good to see you, Henrik." Apart from a little more graying at the temples and the wrinkles now touching his eyes, he looked exactly the same.

Henrik flashed her one of his own rare smiles. "Well, what a lovely surprise."

"And now you're at Harvard." She laughed. "I take it Joanna wasn't too thrilled."

Henrik pursed his lips and drummed his fingers together. "Despite her… ill humor, I stayed on until Beech Hill was better than on its feet. By the time I left, it has earned a reputation. And since Joanna is in a perpetual state of upset, I don't believe my departure had any exceptional effect on her."

"How long have you been working at Harvard?"

"Just under two years. So what brings you here?"

"Well, Sonny and I—"

Henrik looked up. His heart seized. There had been something vaguely familiar about that head of strangely-colored hair, and once he looked closer, he saw that it was indeed his erstwhile colleague.

And he was examining one of his relics!

"More apt a question, what is he doing here?" Henrik asked, forcing his voice level as Sonny moved closer. "Please don't touch that."

Sonny whirled around. His free hand came within a few inches of the artifact as he did so.

Henrik's head began to spin. He sat again.

"Henrik!" he bounded over. "Long time, no see, eh?"

"Yes." He blinked, covering up his desk with a cloth and taking off the mask.

Nancy walked forward. "We were hoping you could help us," she began.

"Us?" he repeated dully.

"Yes," Sonny cut in. "You know that weird dig that's going on in Mexico I was talking about on the phone a few days back? Well, Nancy's going to help, uh, maybe," he looked at her, "and hopefully we all come out of this having learned something!"

"Apparently not if I choose to work with you again," Henrik muttered under his breath.

Sonny appeared not to hear in his wide-eyed excitement, but Nancy did. "We'd be in Mexico, far away from here," she leaned forward and said in an undertone. "We just need you to help get us there, if you're willing."

Nodding briefly, Henrik turned to address Sonny. "I must confess that I wasn't listening to your phone call. My mind was elsewhere."

Sonny's face fell.

Henrik sighed. Sonny wasn't a bad sort. Even if it was odd for him to be chagrined over Henrik's inattention when he failed to listen so many times himself. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Usrique. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Yes. What's your interest in it?"

"I've been doing some of my own research on ancient cultures for years, which has led to some interesting finds in some interesting sites. Based on what I've been hearing in the news, this may be the next step."

"Yes, but what are you trying to achieve by all this r—oh." Henrik closed his eyes as he remembered. Over the years and series of horror stories retold, Sonny had become a ball of action with a complete absence of being. Somehow he had forgotten who Sonny _was_ in the turmoil of all that he _did_.

And the boy was an alien believer.

Sonny began to speak into the silence.

"More of your so-called theories?" Henrik asked at the same time.

"Yes, though I'd just go with 'theories,'" Sonny replied. "Besides, isn't any kind of interest in Mayan culture better than it going ignored?"

"That depends on whether the artifacts lie in the right hands and are treated with respect."

"They would be," assured Nancy.

"Hmmm," Henrik said, looking from one to the other.

Sonny took this opportunity to pull up a lab stool and quickly explain what he planned to do. Nancy stood behind him and offered brief interjections, usually to offer an odd word or two he was looking for when he couldn't articulate them.

"The Mexican government is behind you on this?" Henrik asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes—the governor of Yucatán," Sonny said. "Others don't think that there's immediate cause for alarm, but the governor thought it might be a good idea to take a look at the site once it was brought to her attention, since there are signs of suspicious activity."

Henrik chuckled. "And who better than Americans to check it out?"

Nancy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, my dear, that Mexican officials can't afford to look like a herd of clods should nothing turn up. They want foreigners." Henrik folded his hands on his desk and hooked his fingers lightly over the cloth-covered stela to prevent an upset. Sonny's eyes were back on his things. "You do know what you're getting into?"

"I have an idea."

"You're pitching yourself headlong into a hotbed of underground money and prestige. If these people know who they are and they hold a grudge against you, they will find a way to get rid of you. Nobody there is going to be your ally. You probably shouldn't fully trust the people I'm sending you with, either. You're safe here now, and you'll probably be relatively safe when you're out. However, I hate to think what would happen if your cover is blown. I've dealt with these people, as you know, and it seldom ends well." He turned to Sonny. "You're risking your life to do this, and you're risking hers. I would sooner put my life in Nancy's hands than in many others', but consider the risk as well as the amount of help you're getting. What is the governor offering you?"

Sonny tapped his foot against a metal rung of the stool. "Witness immunity. That covers our part in illegal activity by participating in the dig."

"No monetary compensation?"

"They're paying for the plane tickets."

Henrik scrutinized Sonny without blinking, waiting for him to continue.

"They're allowing me to do my own investigation there," Sonny said quickly. "There's no reason for money."

"I see," said Henrik. "And what makes me think that I can help you, or that I want to?"

Sonny gazed at the edge of his desk. "Um…"

"I saw that rather unfortunate drawing you made of me." Henrik said, uncovering the stela and grabbing his brush and mask. "Perhaps I don't go in to the doctor for routine checkups as often as I should, but I daresay I would know if there were a tumor of that size on my head."

"That wasn't a tumor," Sonny started to say before Nancy shot him a warning glance.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

"I also saw the one you did of Taylor." Henrik continued, making sure the mask was secure over his face before smiling.

Sonny cleared his throat. "That was a long time ago."

"Not so long as you think."

"I'm sorry. Your head is tiny—uh," Sonny stopped himself, "I mean, perfectly… normal-sized?"

Henrik returned to his work, nonplussed. For two months he had suffered at the hands of this hurricane nightmare. Sonny could certainly take the strain for a few measly minutes.

Nancy and Sonny exchanged glances, afraid that he was angry. Then they looked at him. Growing impatient, Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but Sonny held up a hand.

Although he kept his face carefully blank, Henrik had already made up his mind. Maybe it was the fact that he, too, had drawn an unflattering portrait of Taylor Sinclair—albeit thirty years ago, when he still had an afro—that endeared him to Sonny's current plan. Granted, it was a terrible reason to help anybody, especially anybody so irresponsible, but at least he'd be updating the history books again if this site was as old as alleged. Just the thought of the codices there, telling new stories and proving once again that history was open-ended, already had his heart beating faster.

Looking up at Nancy, he finally spoke. "Well, I would hate to see such an important discovery marred by careless excavation." Henrik paused. "A few years ago, I had a contact at the Uxmal dig, which is relatively nearby. Dr. Hector Fuentes, who is now retired. Uxmal is in the Puuc region, relatively close to Usrique. I'm guessing that the proximity of the dig to other Mayan sites has better allowed them to blend in."

Nancy's eyes sparked with anticipation. "Can you get us there?"

"Yes, I can. But it'll be far less suspicious if I send you as part of a larger group. And I first have to contact Dr. Fuentes so that they'll be expecting you. I haven't talked to him in some time, and it will be done discreetly; I am sure that no connection can be traced beyond him back to me."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" Sonny asked.

"A few people, yes." Henrik said thoughtfully. "There's a vagrant who works in the Puuc region to gather information for a research project he's working on. I give him information on dig opportunities so he can make a living and stay on in the region, and in return he provides me information on digs and the excavation of certain relics. He can probably help you. You'll also need someone to look into the black market end of things without arousing suspicion. Prove that there are ties to the dig in question. Nancy, you run the risk of blowing your cover if you ask too many questions, and Sonny, you lack any trace of discretion whatsoever."

Apparently deep in thought, Sonny simply murmured in agreement.

"Does either of you know anyone trustworthy who can infiltrate the black market?"

"Jamila mentioned somebody." Sonny thought aloud. "Some tour guide she met in Egypt. Dressed like Indiana Jones, was a bit of a jerk according to her."

"Sounds like Dylan Carter," Nancy said.

Sonny nodded. "That's who it was."

"He was trying to get a connection in the black market on one of my past cases," she explained to Henrik.

"Well, Nancy, the fact remains that I still owe you dearly for your help in unearthing Amoxcalli's words and seeing that they made it into historical records. This is certainly the least I can do for you in return. If there's anything else I can ever do for you, feel free to drop by. And," his smile faded slightly as he regarded the other, "Sonny, I suppose it's good to see you again."

"Likewise!" Sonny stuck out a hand, which Henrik gingerly shook. "You're a credit to your museum!"

"Thank you so much, Henrik," Nancy said as they embraced.

"Pretty soon I'll like to bring a colleague of mine out here to meet you," Sonny said. "Her name is Jamila El-Dine."

Jaw set, Henrik nodded. Briefly he wondered what he was in for—Sonny's cohorts as Sonny facsimiles, or perhaps a pleasant surprise. He decided it most prudent to prepare for the first and hope for the latter.

The drive back to Boston Largon International Airport was short and largely silent. Because most everything had been explained on the plane and drive up, there was nothing much left to say. Both were too tired for pleasantries.

After walking to Nancy's gate, Sonny turned to her. "It's a bit of a mess. But what do you think?"

Almost immediately Nancy said, "I'll do it."

* * *

  
"Are you sure about this, Sonny?"

"Really, really sure."

"Just a reminder that he hasn't exactly proven himself trustworthy in the past."

"I know you don't like him, Jamila. I'm just asking you to talk to him. Then send him to the States, and you'll never have to talk to him again."

"What's to say that he won't sell us out for people at the site if they're willing to pay him more?"

"Look, if feel that strongly that he shouldn't be involved, I won't bring him on. You're of sound judgment. But can you talk to him first before making that decision?"

"I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"Yeah, considering that we don't know anybody else who has or did have ties to the black market and is relatively trustworthy." Pause. "You sure you're okay talking to him?"

"Yeah. I'll take care of it," Jamila adjusted her umbrella at an upwards angle so she could see the clock in the square. She frowned. "And don't think I've forgotten what time it is there. You'd better get some sleep."

"Yes, man," Sonny yawned. "Ma'am."

"Talk to you later." She hung up, stretched out her thumb, and began dialing again. She took the few seconds of ringing to run through a mental list of affordable cafés. If Dylan was as poor as she thought, then it was highly likely she'd be picking up the bill.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. "Hello?" asked a sleepy voice.

Jamila laughed dryly. "It's 11 AM, and you're sleeping?"

"Who's this?"

"This is Jamila El-Dine. Perhaps you don't remember me. I was at Nefertari's tomb."

"Ah! Pseudo-spacegirl." Dylan said. "What can I do for you?"

"You can meet me for lunch. I need your help with something."

"Where?"

Jamila blinked. She hadn't expected it to be this easy. "Red Leaf, 13 Bedford Row. One sound good?"

"Yeah."

Two hours and five minutes later, Jamila sat alone at a table in the window, her fingers curled comfortably around a cup of hot tea. Of course the window hadn't done much good after the rain came down harder and the fog settled in. At this point she could only hope that late meant late and not no-show. Thanks to the rain and the imminent company she already wasn't in the greatest of moods. If she had to sit another hour in damp clothes she would soon grow dour.

Finally Dylan strolled in with water trailing down his sleeves and pant legs. He took a few steps and craned his neck in several directions, apparently in no great hurry, and waved gaily when he saw her.

"You're late." She said as he approached.

"Sorry. Traffic." He slid into the seat opposite her. "So, this a little Egypt reunion then? Quite nice, I must say."

"Are you still trying to find connections to the black market?" Jamila asked the second he was finished talking.

Dylan's eyes widened, and he blinked a few times. "Ah, I, um," he stuttered. At a loss for the right answer, if Jamila had to guess.

She sighed. Apparently she would have to help him out by telling him a little of the assignment. Oh well. Fair was fair. But it still made her less happy than if he was honest of his own accord. "How is the guide business going?" she asked.

"Terrible," he blinked again, still in mild shock.

"Good. My friends and I just might know of a new place for you."

"New as in… brand new?" He leaned forward slightly.

"No other guides," Jamila said. "We have a job for you regarding your… skills."

Dylan paused. "What exactly does this involve?"

"Trying to find a connection again." Jamila shook her head and corrected herself. "Actually, no, not trying. Finding a connection."

The gleam in Dylan's eye was unmistakable, although he at least had the decency to point out that he had promised not to engage in such transactions anymore. "What's your interest in the black market, anyway?" he asked coolly.

"I am interested in some suspicious relics that are probably being sold illegally. I would like to study them, but I can't if I don't know their whereabouts."

"So, scrapping the eloquence, you want to expose black market dealings."

"I want to track those pieces." A waiter arrived with a dish that Jamila had ordered before Dylan came. She thanked him.

After ordering and receiving his own food, Dylan continued the conversation. "But your priority is finding out for sure whether they went through the black market."

"What makes you think so?" Jamila examined the tablecloth.

"You hate the black market and everyone in it."

"Do I?"

Dylan laughed. "Jamila, as a person who deals with people day in and day out, I'm fairly expert at knowing what people think of me, and I know for a fact that you hate me. Almost as much as you hated Abdullah."

Jamila looked up. "That would be true," she replied, unrepentant.

"Besides, if you care about artifacts, you hate the black market by default."

"Which is why you would be so helpful. I suspect you don't much care."

Wincing, Dylan averted his eyes. "Look, artifacts aren't just money to me. But they are money, and I'm a little short on that these days."

Jamila studied him. From the threadbare shirt to the way he picked at his salad a little too nonchalantly before taking bites, she grudgingly accepted that what he said was probably the truth. "That is why I'm here," she said. "We can pay you if you look into things. And after a little while, you can set up tours there."

"'We?'"

"Of course, 'we.' Did you think I work alone?"

"And where exactly is this?"

"First things first. Are you willing to help us?"

"Smart of you." Dylan nodded. "How ironclad?"

"If you help us," Jamila began, "you will be automatically authorized to do tours in that particular place by the national government. I already squared that. And if you prove yourself trustworthy and helpful in this endeavor, there will be less red tape for setting up tours in other places." Thank goodness the governor had still been up when Sonny had called about the tour guide idea, she thought to herself.

"But where is this?"

"Which do you love more?" Jamila asked. "England, or being a tour guide?"

Dylan groaned in exasperation, rolling his head back until he was looking at the ceiling. "Can you at least tell me the general vicinity before I sign over my services?"

After a pause, Jamila acceded. "Mexico. Yucatán Peninsula."

"Oh." Dylan brightened. "Well. The way you were going on about it, I thought you were going to say Antarctica."

"Well they certainly don't have any tour guides there," Jamila said wryly.

"This sounds pretty good, I must say."

"I feel obliged to warn you that there is a certain amount of risk. Not much, mind you, seeing as you are only providing us a little information in return."

Dylan rested his hands behind his head. "Risk never scared me."

"You in, then?"

"Yep."

"Well, good. That takes care of that."

"Speaking of," Dylan's eyes lowered to the bill their waiter just placed in front of them. "I'm utterly humiliated to ask this of you, but…"

For a few moments she considered this. "Are you really that bad off?"

He leaned further forward. "I haven't worked in a month," he whispered.

"I see." She stared down at the bill. This wasn't Dylan's style of manipulation.

"I promise that sometime I'll take you out to the best dinner of your life. Ritz or better."

Exaggeration. Trademark of the showman.

"Forget it," she replied.

"I try not to forget things, or people. So I guess I'll be seeing you?"

"No. I won't be going to Mexico."

"Ah." Dylan offered her a wan smile. "Well, in that case, until we meet again."

After he had taken care of everything with Dr. Fuentes, Henrik went back to his trusty HAM Radio to make a second call.

3,000 miles away in the hills sat a lonely tent with a young man sitting outside of it. He wiped his brow. The temperature had grown several degrees cooler at dusk, and the sweat on his clothes began to chill him. With his long dark bangs out of his eyes, he could see for a moment.

When something within the tent started to crackle, he stilled and sat up straighter. Squinting at a row of dots on the sun-rimmed horizon, he pushed his shovel off his knees and crawled inside. One table, one radio, and a pile of sheets comprised his main belongings, plus a messy stack of photos next to his "bunk." His eyes went immediately to the radio.

"Dutchman calling Rex. Come in, Rex."

He picked up, twirling the microphone between his fingers. "This is Rex." Rex of X would be a cooler name, he thought to himself. Too bad it was too late to suggest it to the old man.

"I've got an assignment for you, Rex."

"You do?"

"You're out in the Puuc region, right? West portion?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Have there been people out there?"

"Looks like it."

"Good. How's your project going?"

"Not well."

"Well, hope you don't mind doing some more digging in that downtime. I know about some people in the area who are looking for work. They'll pay you."

"Money, huh?" The word was almost foreign on his dry tongue. "Just to keep digging? Is there anything you want from the site?"

"I'd like it if you could keep an eye on the other diggers."

The young man frowned. "Exactly how much is this paying?"

"It'll pay enough to keep you in the area a little while longer to do your own work on the side. And since the Puuc region is a little sleepy right now for dig sites, I highly suggest you go there to work."

"Look, man, I owe you for your telling me where to get work around here. That's helped a lot with my project. But this sounds dangerous."

"Not if you don't appear suspect, which you won't. Just leave the radio out here for a while."

"You mean, don't contact you?"

"Precisely."

"What about this little setup we've got? What if you need to contact me with other job opps?"

"That won't be necessary as long as you're at Usrique. If something happens to your old HAM in your absence, I'll wire money to Tekax to pay for a new one. Meanwhile, if you could just keep your eyes open, that would be very helpful to me. Think you can do that, Mr. Talbot?"

Lou nodded to himself. Then, remembering at the last moment that Henrik couldn't see this, he picked up the microphone. "Okay, Dutchman."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, when exactly did Jamila stop her insanity act? Afraid I must have missed it while I was in hospital."

"It came up in conversation," Nancy replied offhandedly to Dylan as they left baggage claim at Manuel Crescencio Rejón Airport in Mérida, the capital of Yucatán.

"That's not exactly something Jamila would just tell you. What I mean was, how did you find out?"

Nancy looked down at the feet of someone twenty feet ahead and shrugged. "I, uh, stumbled on it."

"Whose stuff did you snoop?"

"Nobody's, okay? I just found it."

"Just like you 'found' those credentials of mine."

Nancy grimaced and didn't answer. She had to work on snooping-related excuses.

"Has she always been so smart?"

"You'd have to ask her that."

"You never told me she lives in London."

"Until now, you didn't seem so interested."

Dylan raised his hands. "Just trying to make sense of what's going on here. Until last week, nobody wanted anything to do with me."

His words drifted farther from Nancy's mind as she looked toward the other three designated diggers who had flown out with them. Until then they hadn't been able to talk properly. A short layover in Atlanta had left little time for introductions, and they all had been sitting far apart on the plane. But it was fairly easy to tell who from whom—the woman was Holly Klee, the Scandinavian man had a Scandinavian name, Norgaard, along with blond hair and light green eyes, and Richard Reeves was the other man left by default. The two men were chatting amiably while the woman faced away from them, arms crossed high over her chest. Although they were close to the transportation area, they had stopped walking.

Approaching them, Nancy asked, "Why are we stopped?"

Alexander Norgaard smiled and nodded at an orange head some distance ahead. "He told us to wait here."

Nancy looked closer. Sonny and an older man were engaged in conversation near the doors.

"They've been talking for a few minutes already," Richard Reeves added with a laugh. "Seems they've forgotten about us. Were you two detained at baggage claim?"

Nancy nodded. She preferred to travel discreetly. Her suitcase was black, a common color, harder to pick out from the other luggage.

Dylan's, on the other hand, was lost.

For another minute or two everybody stood around, saying nothing to one another. Dylan began to whistle.

Shaking her head, she walked past them and over to Sonny and his acquaintance. "Hello, Sonny."

Sonny looked over, surprised. "Hi, Nancy."

She turned to the stranger. "I'm Nancy Drew. Is there anything I can help with?"

"My name is Hector Fuentes." He bowed his head slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Henrik told me to be expecting you. Mr. Joon and I were just working out the travel details. It is a two-hour drive from Mérida to Tekax, and from there there is a car to take you to the dig."

"Has it already been arranged?"

"No." Sonny muttered. "Apparently Henrik made the arrangements for Tekax, but he expected me to take care of getting us to the site."

"It's not a problem," Dr. Fuentes assured quickly. "We're just in the process of finding drivers who works intercity. Most of the ones readily available at the airport only serve Mérida. The only reason why we're not able to make arrangements more quickly is because the size of your party necessitates two cars. At the moment only one is available."

"We called in another one, but it'll take a few minutes," Sonny added.

"What about shuttles or vans?" Nancy asked.

"No vans available. As for shuttles—it is too far. No shuttle will take you to Tekax. And there is an ongoing transit strike, so you can't be bussed in."

"That's all right; it sounds like we're doing everything we can do."

"So, you are interested in archaeology." Dr. Fuentes said to Nancy. "A PhD student?"

Nancy chuckled. "Afraid not. Just interested."

He turned to Sonny. "What about you?"

"Yeah, at one time. I left the program."

"While I am no longer a professor, I remain obligated to direct interest toward the Universidad de Guanajuaro. Wonderful archaeology and anthropology programs. I highly recommend."

Nancy smiled. With fondness she remembered Jon Boyle's sitcom-addled expressions and Professor Hotchkiss's inability to recall names. She suspected that she'd go to college just for the quirks of the professors and to try and discover what made them tick.

It felt so fantastic to be on another case.

Sonny turned around and waved to the others.

Tentatively they waved back.

He shook his head and waved again, beckoning them.

Individually they approached. Dylan sauntered up to them first, unhampered by the weight of luggage. Alexander followed with long, deliberate strides. Richard attempted to keep up by walking faster, and Holly brought up the rear. "What's the holdup?" She asked when she arrived, half a minute behind the others.

"Second car," Sonny said. "Could take a while."

Dr. Fuentes' phone rang. He picked up.

Holly looked down and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I didn't go on sabbatical for this," she muttered flatly.

"What did you go on sabbatical for? Thought the main point was just to get away from the students." Richard stretched nonchalantly. "Know I'm sick of picking up after them."

"Some of us have loftier aspirations, Mr. Reeves," Holly replied frigidly, missing the joke.

"True," he replied, unfazed.

Holly turned away from everyone and looked pointedly towards the doors. She moved stiffly, Nancy noticed, no doubt from sitting in a chair so much. She probably hadn't been on a dig in years. Richard had the hunched posture of a janitor, but he also had open body language. Alexander, who hadn't spoken in a few minutes, was much harder to read. Right now his attention was elsewhere, and he was neither smiling nor frowning.

"Well, that was fun," Dylan said festively. "Hard to say whose aspirations are loftier when we're all at the same altitude."

Sonny snickered.

Nobody else did.

Dr. Fuentes continued to mutter in Spanish for a spell before hanging up. "Thirty minutes," he announced.

Holly's expression soured.

Alexander massaged his temples.

Richard just pulled his lips inward and sat on his suitcase.

"I'm very sorry to leave you at this point, but I only expected to stay for a short time, and I'm needed elsewhere," Dr. Fuentes continued. "It's been a pleasure."

The others said their goodbyes, and he left. Nancy, Dylan, and all the others went to stand closer to the doors. Sonny stayed where he was.

A few minutes later there was a sudden movement in Nancy's peripheral vision.

Sonny sent her a subtle two-fingered wave, trying not to attract additional attention. "Traffic's horrible," he mouthed. "May be longer."

Nancy squinted. Her vision was good, but he was too far away.

He repeated the statement.

Understanding this time, she nodded and then pointed to the others.

He shook his head. "Tensions."

Nancy walked over to stand next to him. "Only five or ten minutes, right?"

"Yeah," he said. "They're just driving from downtown, apparently. Seems better not to worry them since it won't be much longer."

Holly looked suspiciously at them.

Nancy leaned closer to the side and spoke low, her hair brushing Sonny's cheek. "Yeah, 'tensions' is correct. What exactly happened to me being out of the crossfire?"

Sonny laughed nervously. "You can take care of yourself, right?"

She turned her head to look at him. "Rhetorical question, right?" she murmured with a little grin.

"Of course." He replied. "Happy to be on a case?"

"Probably."

"Hiatus after this?"

"Too early to say."

"Sonny!" Dylan interrupted.

They looked up as he moved toward them.

"Since I lost my luggage, I was wondering if I could mooch a few things off you." He lowered his voice. "Been meaning to ask you. Anybody bothered to explain why we're in the safest state in Mexico, and they haven't bothered cracking down on, erm," he raised his eyebrows, "activities?"

Nancy took a quick look around to ensure the others were out of earshot.

"I've already checked," he told her. He nodded to where Alexander stood outside. Holly had started in that direction. Richard was gone, presumably to use the restroom.

"You've done your research," Nancy remarked.

Both turned expectantly to Sonny.

Sonny rolled his eyes. "I see how it is. I'm supposed to know everything." He took a dramatic pause, then continued. "But I do actually know this one. Yes, it's the safest state in Mexico, but keeping it safe takes a lot of effort apparently. And you've got diplomacy, Dylan. We all do."

"I know, I know. It just seemed a little bit odd. And I figured this'll be the last time we'll be having clarificatory conversations. But I thought that maybe someone from the government is… involved."

"It's possible," allowed Nancy, "though I need to get to the site to be able to draw any definitive conclusions or even get an impression."

Soon the cars arrived. Richard climbed into the front while Nancy, Dylan, and Sonny crawled into the back. Alexander and Holly took the second car.

Nancy had been the only one not to sleep.

At times it was lonely when no one shared her vigilance, but she contented herself with surveying the people around her. Now was one of the only times she could do so without having to be discreet.

There wasn't much to observe from the back of Richard's head except for the fact that he had a stiff neck.

Looking to the opposite end of the car, Nancy saw that Dylan had slid forward in his seat, and his head stuck to the window. A few times he stirred when his head knocked into it on some of the rougher turns, but he went largely undisturbed.

Tapping a spot on her forearm near her elbow, she redirected her attention to Sonny, who was crammed in the middle. He hadn't appeared to move from his conscious state to sleep, his face was engaged but untroubled. He'd fallen asleep before he got the chance to take his glasses off. How could he sleep, though, being squished like that? For a moment Nancy wished she had taken the spot least comfortable for sleeping since she didn't plan on doing so. It also would have given her a better vantage point to observe the others and see what she could figure out about them, she added quickly to herself.

As she continued to study him, Nancy wondered briefly what she looked like at the end of the day, curled up and conked out after sleuthing. Miraculously she managed to avoid sleep deprivation despite all of the traveling and the lack of down time, sort of like she skirted concussions from all of the blunt trauma to her head. And fortunately, on a scale from zero to Casey Porterfield, she'd only been mildly scrambled in the aftermath.

Now that more people were recognizing her, she knew she had to be careful—trust nobody completely, not even Dylan.

Or Sonny. She still knew too little about him.

Yet as he slept, half-departed from the world, he looked completely guileless.

And now she found she could almost read him.

She shook her head. Trust had to come by objectivity and informed choices.

Not by impulse. Not by accident.

He shifted slightly, and his eyes opened.

Nancy blinked.

"Are we there?" he asked blankly.

"No," she replied. "What woke you up?"

"I'm a light sleeper." He yawned. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"You don't need to boss me around, you know. I already have Jamila for that."

Nancy didn't answer.

Sonny became silent. After a few minutes, Nancy guessed that he was no longer awake.

The rest of the ride went uneventfully. When the driver finally arrived at the outskirts of down and pulled off the road, Nancy woke the others. She stepped out of the car and offered the sluggish Sonny a hand. As she did so, she caught sight of two Land Rovers a few feet more off the road and a man leaning on the front of it. How long had he been waiting? she wondered. He looked oddly familiar, with shaggy dark hair and glasses and a casual air.

Nancy retracted her hand. Forgetting Sonny as he tumbled out of the car as a result, she walked a few steps forward.

The man looked up. His eyes widened slightly.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

For a few seconds his mouth moved soundlessly. Then he looked away. "Uh, no. No, you don't."

Everybody else started filing out of the car, and Sonny got up off the ground.

The air was hot and thick. Aureate light filtered through several holes in a patched gray sky. A cluster of bruised clouds drifted past, and a few raindrops pounced leisurely on the tip of Nancy's nose. The young man haphazardly placed a hand over his head to shield himself.

He knew her, all right, and he wasn't friendly. But was he dangerous? A relative to someone she had put in jail? Family resemblance?

Nancy gritted her teeth. Why couldn't she remember?

Sonny took time in brushing dirt from his clothes. He threw Nancy a cool glance. "Thanks a lot," he said. "Great timing for a prank. Couldn't be better."

She waved him off and continued thinking. Who was it?

Finally it came to her, blurry, at first. A lodge. A table. An older Canadian man.

He was so misplaced here in the heat!

"Lou," she murmured.

He looked up sharply.

"Lou Talbot, right?"

"Yeah." He looked unhappy.

"That feels like it was eight years ago or something," she said in disbelief.

"I guess."

"You didn't have to leave so abruptly." Nancy offered a small smile. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I had heard about another place where bones were turning up."

"Not on private property, I hope."

"Don't see how that's any of your business."

"If you're stealing, then yeah, it is."

"Well, I'm not going to be stealing anything on _this_ site, and I don't discuss my past."

Nancy's eyes hardened. But she couldn't push him too hard, she reminded herself. If he found out that she was a detective and then turned out to be untrustworthy, that could turn out badly for her. And if the other diggers found out about his past as a thief, that could turn out badly for them all.

How could she find out if he was trustworthy, though? Nancy looked around for some belongings around him or on his person, anything she could look through later to determine whether Lou had any hidden affiliations. To her chagrin, however, there appeared to be nothing apart from a rolled blanket in his possession.

"So, everybody," Lou raised his voice. "You're tired. I'm tired. I suggest we get moving. Other driver's in the other car. He's either shy or he's sleeping."

Lou climbed into his own car and shut the door. Slowly the others followed. This time Nancy opted for the car with the two strangers.

Once moving, Nancy tried several times to engage them in conversation. Alexander spoke concisely when addressed, but Holly answered with pointed sighs and sometimes, if Nancy was fortunate, one-word answers. In 40 minutes she had learned that Alexander was a newly-hired associate professor at Wesleyan. He had completed his doctoral work in early Mesoamerican civilizations with a concentration on the Maya and the Puuc region the year prior. Holly had been compiling research for a book and finished earlier than anticipated. Although Nancy was careful in remembering the details, the words exchanged didn't stay with her mind. She had to stifle several yawns out of politeness. She really should have slept in the car like the others.

The first thing Nancy noticed upon arriving was the size of the dig. She had participated in several digs over the years, but they all had been only a dozen people or so. Of course they had all been university digs, so maybe those were more intimate. Here, though, there were twenty-five to thirty people. More people meant less attention and an easier job for her. But how had they themselves been able to evade attention from the government? Maybe Dylan was right.

Upon closer glance she was surprised to see a pile of cloth and poles on the ground. Tents. It was odd enough that they were not erected, but, even more strangely, they were not white, but green. The shade was darker in some areas than in others, while some spots appeared almost white. It looked as though someone had taken a fistful of grass and smeared it over the cloth.

They had certainly gone to great lengths to blend in.

This was all she observed before one of the men noticed their arrival and walked over to greet them. As he drew closer Nancy saw that he was short and barrel-chested. "You must be the people Harvard sent," he said. "You come highly recommended from Dr. Fuentes. I'm Beltrán Gerro, leader of the Mexican team."

Another man appeared behind him and listened as he spoke. His eyes narrowed on Nancy.

Nancy beamed at them both. "I can't wait to get started."

Beltrán nodded. "Eager. Good. This is my friend José Mercedez from the Honduran team."

José stared at Nancy a moment longer before returning to the dig.

Beltrán opened his arms for a moment to introduce the busy sight before them. Then he placed them at his sides and smiled. "It is close to sunset, so we are putting up the tents. Please. Unpack. We, too, are eager for you to join us."

As he followed José, Nancy's mind returned to the thought of things ending badly. What exactly did that mean? Was any of the men here armed? Were they all armed? The others moved ahead of her with their suitcases. She continued to ponder.


	5. Chapter 5

Five minutes before sunrise Nancy stood alert, eye out for any sort of movement. The two main tents were about to go down. Usrique, like the rest of the Puuc region, had many hills, the tallest of which was the best vantage point. And because dawn hadn't arrived, no one could see her unless they looked closely. Now she watched shadows tap at the poles and cloth flutter to the ground.

For the past three days she had introduced herself, watched the look in their eyes to see who was the talking type, observed.

The other diggers were tight-lipped almost without exception. For now the quietude didn't seem out of the ordinary, assuming everybody cared only about getting the job done. Maybe it was cultural.

Or maybe everybody was hiding something.

In any case, Nancy stopped talking after the others gave her odd looks. She didn't want to give the impression that she spoke carelessly, not if she wanted them to trust her. Throwing herself into digging seemed to be the best way to earn it—especially from the supervisors.

Beltrán and José stayed with the others at all times. Very occasionally they walked a little ways away and talked privately, but never for very long, and never out of Nancy's sightline.

That was during the day.

There had to be some point when they weren't with the others.

Thus, the early morning reconnaissance.

Still the shadows moved in a loose cluster, none venturing away at any notable distance. Nancy had seen Beltrán and José with them; she was positive.

A pink rim formed on the horizon. She pushed herself to her feet and walked down the hill to join the others. Maybe tomorrow would be more productive.

The shadows grew colors as she approached and the sun came up. Lou stood apart from everybody else, eyes clouded in sleep or thought.

An idea came to Nancy. She strode over to him.

Lou nodded in greeting.

Nancy smiled.

He didn't.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

Lou shook his head.

"I have a bit of an odd request."

"Not promising anything."

"Can you talk to some of the other diggers today? I figure it might help break the ice."

"Why me?"

"I tried."

He sighed. "What do I talk about?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything you want. I just," Nancy looked at her feet and shrugged. "I don't like the silence."

"Fine," he grimaced.

Nancy's eyes followed a digger to one of the smaller tents. He emerged holding tools.

Until now, Nancy had had tools handed to her. This would be a good opportunity to look around. She stepped inside. Grabbing a shovel, mattock, brushes, and a screen, she turned to leave when her eyes closed in on something in the far corner of the room, hidden behind a small table.

Slowly she stepped closer.

A glint of metal caught her eye.

She knelt down and looked.

A power saw.

Out of place at a dig site…

Disturbingly so.

That job was easily and more safely accomplished with an auger.

A rustling sound at the tent flap made her leap up instinctively.

Beltrán appeared with his hands on his hips. She couldn't see his face, but his form was easily distinguishable. "We usually take the tools out to the new diggers," he said, voice empty of any detectable emotion. "But I suppose you've been here long enough."

Nancy immediately jumped into apologies, but he waved her off and laughed.

"You are the right type," he said, and this time Nancy heard a smile. "The others have been here so long that they've lost their excitement." With that, he turned and left.

It was just the character apologizing, Nancy thought to herself. She as herself would have stood her ground. She couldn't afford to be jittery. What happened last case happened last case. The likelihood of her cover being blown was no larger than it always had been.

This case…

Nancy swallowed.

Everything would change after this. She had to grow up, make her own living. No more taking cases for free.

Maybe no more cases ever.

Was this going to be the last one?

No, she thought. Stop thinking about the future. Stop.

That's what she had to tell herself when she was, she grimaced at the word, scared. In St. Louis. In Egypt. In Thornton Hall.

Nancy walked out of the tent and joined the others who were already digging. Shovels glistened in the sliver of light. Looking for grassless pits where people had started, she settled herself into a space next to Lou and got to work.

Instantly Lou started to talk.

Nancy nudged him. "You don't need to right now, not until there's more daylight," she said.

He said nothing as he scooped his shovel downward, but Nancy could read his displeasure from the force of the gesture and the tenseness of his back.

Sonny, on the other hand, had started chatting up everybody in the vicinity, talking as much as he was working… more, actually. Nobody really responded to him, and Nancy wouldn't have been able to see the faces of those who responded, anyway. Would Lou fare any better? she wondered.

Dylan seemed oddly quiet. He kept glancing up at Beltrán and José as they worked. When the sun had risen a little higher they noticed these looks and returned them warily.

Nancy gritted her teeth on a particularly stubborn patch of dirt. Were they suspicious? "Now's good," she whispered to Lou. "Start talking when you feel like it."

This proved to be much later than Nancy had hoped. But finally, just when she was sure he'd forgotten, he started to talk. "Anybody here been out to the Chicxulub crater?" he asked.

Richard offered a "No," while Alexander shook his head. Holly ignored him, and so did with the rest of the workers. Dylan didn't answer, and Sonny was engrossed in a one-sided conversation of his own.

"'s where it all ended for the dinosaurs," he said. "If you've been there, you've seen me. Part of the crater edge is around here."

So that's what he was doing here, Nancy noted with some interest.

"'Cause you think, well, there have to be some bone specimens around, right?" He wiped sweat out of his eyes. "And even if not, that's firsthand learning experience about some life that predated you by millions of years. And I just got my MFA, and it's like, I'm not gonna need to be going back for a doctorate."

Alexander's feigned interest turned to real interest. Richard kept working.

"How long have you been around?" Nancy asked.

"A few months," he said without looking at her, facing the open land filled with workers. "Might be here for quite some time now; there's a lot to be looking for. Plus," he muttered at the sight, almost to himself, "lots of space, man. Lots of opportunities for my art."

Nancy smiled. Earthitecture.

"I forget how deep the crater is, but I'm going to the bottom of it. Figuratively and literally… did that just blow your mind, or what? And—oh, wait, it actually says in my latest letter from Cousin Mel." Lou's hand went to his pocket. "Nuts. Left it in the tent."

"Cousin who?" Alexander asked.

"Oh, I haven't told you about Cousin Mel?" Lou's face lit up. "Yeah, Cousin Mel is a budding student at Oxford, but she's actually in Florence right now. Studying the art there. Because of her, I even got to meet Poppy Dada. You heard of her?" He looked around. "Poppy Dada?"

Most of the other men averted their eyes.

Lou looked at Nancy, who absently gave him a thumbs up. He reached into his front pant pocket and pulled out a photo, shoving it into the hand of a nearby digger and crossing his arms proudly.

"Oxford," Alexander Norgaard smiled appreciatively. "Very hard to get in, not to mention the cost."

"She got a full ride for graduating valedictorian." He broke out in a grin. "We always knew she was smart."

Nancy reached for the photo before it was handed back to Lou. There were three people. Lou, on the left, was wearing a suit and a bigger grin than even now, and Nancy also recognized the woman on the left as Mel Corbalis, looking almost exactly the same as she had at Waverly.

Wait… Mel Corbalis? Nancy fought to keep the surprise off her face. Couldn't take the chance of anybody knowing she was a detective.

She shrugged and refocused her attention to the one in the center. A woman with straight black hair and thickly-applied cat eyeliner stared back. Her eyes held a flat, sardonic look, and she had an intriguing curl of the lip.

Poppy Dada.

"Mel met her at an artist's gathering in Rome." Lou re-pocketed the photo after Nancy had given it back. "I just had to fly out for a couple of days, and I'm really glad I did."

"I haven't been to Rome since my undergraduate studies," Alexander said. "Is it still as crowded?"

"Yeah, wasn't very chill," Lou agreed. "But at least now I've been off the American continent."

Silence.

"Anyway, there are lots of interesting places around here for that kind of thing—dinos near doomsplace. Maybe the next time I drive you guys into town for supplies, I'll point some of them out."

After that he didn't say much of anything. Nancy offered a small grin of thanks, but she was disheartened at this stroke of luck. Why wasn't anybody else talking? How long would it be before any of them made a breakthrough?

* * *

The communal disinterest in Sonny's words dragged on and intensified. Still he talked, talked, talked, talked. He'd thought the smile would be infectious, but it didn't matter that it wasn't. At least he was above suspicion, and everybody on Team Henrik would be above suspicion by affiliation. Then everybody could do their jobs with a little more ease, and all he had to do was watch them and say crazy things once in a while. Which according to everybody else wasn't very hard for him at all.

Yes, Sonny thought. This was all going perfectly. Grandpa Jin would be so happy when he heard about this. He hadn't been able to reach him before leaving, but Jamila promised she'd pass the information along and, Sonny made a face, reiterate the point that he needed to get a cell phone.

Idly he traced patterns in the dirt with his shovel, first into drawings of tents, then pyramids, then a set of hills. Around one of the hills he drew a flat oval and four little rectangles inside it… windows. Then he used the flat of the shovel to wipe away the lines connecting the top of the hill to the sides, setting it free. He looked up at the sky. Creating a world was just as easy as imagining it.

What could the teachers have had in mind when they saw humanity crawling? What did they have in mind when they taught humans to stand only to watch them tear each other apart?

In his peripheral vision, Sonny saw movement on his left shoe. He knelt down and saw it was a beetle, and he let it wriggle onto his hand. It took jagged steps toward his wrist.

He lifted his hand to the top of the pit and gently flicked it off, watching it scurry away.

What did they have in mind when they saw thousands of careless feet and car tires? Of deer and bear heads above the mantle? Of the holes in the ozone? The sinkholes in Siberia? Destroyed habitats, endangered species?

Were they angry? Or just disappointed?

The window of change wasn't in five years, not by Jin's clock or the world's.

"Hey!" somebody shouted.

His head snapped up.

José glared down at him from the rim of the pit. " _Qué miras? Volver al trabajo!_ "

Sonny fought the urge to roll his eyes. This was the not-fun part of working—actual work. "I'm on it," he called up. What rhymed with José? Rosey sort of did, but that didn't match his personality _at all_.

Unless he was speaking ironically.

Sonny's mouth curved upward in anticipation.

"Hey! I told you once; if you don't get back to work, we'll all take our lunches without you!"

"Heard ya," Sonny replied, grabbing his shovel and hitting the earth with a crack.

A few other diggers looked over.

"What was that?" Beltrán asked, appearing next to José.

Sonny froze. It was a sign. Something was here.

For three minutes he and three other men dug furiously around the object. Finally it was lifted out of the pit. Beltrán swiped his brush around it and blew off the rest of the dirt. His face fell.

It was just a rock. Almost perfectly the shape and size of a stone tablet.

But blank.

Modification, Sonny noted: something was here soon.

Never mind that he got that feeling every time something didn't turn up as well as did; this feeling was stronger. All the facts came together, all the mysterious artifacts, the weird dates, the eye-goggle glyphs, the rumors of a dead location revisited, and they pointed to here. Here.

He was half-glad Jamila wasn't here to tell him to slow down. "Wow. Gotta make that the centerpiece of my rock collection," he heard himself say, while his thoughts tumbled leagues ahead. How much closer was this to the etude? Not the funny little piano pieces that bored him but the bigger tunes, the rumbling of tectonic plates as they bumped into and over one another, the hum of spaceships when they finally, _finally_ , popped out of the clouds. Would he ever be able to meet his progenitors?

None of that he said, or could have said, because his mind would have already been too far ahead of _that_ point for him to remember it. But it was such a shame he couldn't. Everybody here would just continue not listening anyway. At first he had been mildly offended when Jamila had told him she'd pretended to be an alien believer so that others would think she was stupid, but he had to admit that the tactic worked.

What would Jamila say? Would she smile but stop him, tell him that this doesn't mean everything just yet?

Well good god, woman, when will it mean everything just yet?

Sonny closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Hypothetical," he said firmly.

Several people threw him an odd stare. That didn't matter. What mattered was that he couldn't call anybody from the site except for state of emergency. Too much, or in fact, any, contact would look suspicious.

His fingers itched on the shovel handle. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut. Don't think about dialing the phone.

He'd just have to freeze the moment in carbonite and tell her the minute he could.

* * *

Dylan reviewed his notes on everything he had learned from Abdullah's rejection. He needed to come across as smart. Smart, but weak. He had to put himself back in the mindset of an empty stomach, back to the choices he made in Egypt when he was trying to do this in earnest. The diluted truth. He had been too casual with Abdullah. He had to beg. Make them think he could be molded by them, ordered by them, without fighting back. Dylan adjusted his fedora over his head and walked into the tool tent, over to José.

José looked him up and down. "You're a guide, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Dylan brightened. "You've heard of me?"

He eyed him askance. "No. I can just tell."

"Look, I'm willing to help out here, but," Dylan leaned forward, "I was hoping that you could get me a connection, too."

José's thick eyebrows rose. "A connection?"

Dylan sighed long. "It's gotten impossible. But I love it and I just, I can't… I can't quit. Leading tours is the only thing I can do well; it's the only thing that makes me happy or gives my life any meaning. I've tried, I've tried so hard, but I'm miserable and hungry. I'm scraping by. But I'd rather die than change careers; I can't change careers. I'm absolutely rubbish at anything else. But I can't be a guide unless I have some…" his eyes rolled up to José, "revenue on the side."

For two minutes, José said nothing. Then his scowl gave way to a pensive frown.

Dylan's eyes remained wide and desperate.

Finally, José spoke. "I sense, Señor Carter, that you are telling the truth."

Now Dylan looked down. "It shames me to admit it, Señor Mercedez."

José looked pleased at the title and the fact that his surname had been pronounced correctly. "You are not as imperceptive as I thought," he said. "You are a shrewd man."

Dylan stayed silent.

"Perhaps you can be of some help to us—"

"I know I could—"

José held up an index finger, "—if you prove to be someone we can trust."

Again he was silent, hoping he looked lost.

José said nothing.

Dylan looked up, conviction in his eyes. "I'll do anything to keep doing what I do."

As José considered this, the expression on his face shifted. "I will need to discuss this with Señor Gerro. We may soon have use of you."

At this, Dylan swept his hat off and held it over his chest, shutting his eyes tight. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Later," José said. "You are dismissed."

If Dylan felt the sudden power lift him half out of his shoes, he could hardly help it. He'd never gotten this far with Abdullah. And maybe the people who knew would stop looking at him like he was a foregone conclusion of greed. When outside, he placed his hat back on his head. Hunger didn't have to drive him toward a world of danger and wrong. Hunger could remind him of all the other empty stomachs, and maybe it wouldn't be worse for them if their culture weren't stolen hot from under their feet.

* * *

At sunset Nancy wiped sweat from the back of her neck. The tents were up, blocking the brightness of the sun even as it dimmed. She trod off to the left tent and saw Sonny standing there. He checked in with her every day for new developments. She liked that. Sharing notes was the only good way to do an investigation like this.

"Anything so far?" he asked in an undertone.

"I've got a little. Mostly about who's talking with whom, who might have an agenda, who might be involved by affiliation. At least, that's what I'm trying to figure out. Kind of hard when nobody at all is talking."

Sonny stared blankly at her as she regaled him with her progress.

Finally Nancy grew frustrated with it. "Have you been listening to anything I've been—"

"Are you okay?"

Sharply she looked up at him.

"You look..." he searched for a word.

"Everything's fine," she responded with her own perplexment as she squinted. Something seemed off about his face. Nancy looked closer and saw, to her astonishment, that it was tinted orange. Was it a trick of the light?

Sonny scratched his ear. "What is it?"

The finger came back orange.

"Your dye's running," Nancy said.

My hair doesn't do well in the heat." He looked at a point above Nancy's eyes. "Oh, wait a minute."

"What?" she asked warily.

"Here." He reached and plucked a blade of grass out of her hair.

Nancy's skin tingled where his fingers had brushed her cheek in doing so.

"Red and green," he said with a little smile. "Can't have you looking like Christmas out of season."

She nodded.

He turned and opened his hand, letting the wind steal the grass. "You settling in okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

Silence.

Sonny examined her face. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, I'm happy. Just anticipating difficulties."

"Is that what you've been doing for the past few weeks?"

She froze. "What do you mean?"

"You seem a little different than you were at Pacific—"

Nancy looked around to make sure they weren't overheard.

Sonny took the cue. "Than you used to be," he said instead.

Considering this, Nancy stayed silent.

"I mean, you were always so serious when you were talking to me anyway, but on top of that—"

She looked up at him through a few layers of sweat. "This is one of my first major digs," she said. "I'm afraid I might screw up."

Genuine surprise filled his face. "You?"

"Did I tell you what happened on my last cas—dig, I mean?"

Sonny blinked. "Your cover almost being blown? Yeah, you did."

Nancy paused, taken-aback. "When did I tell you?"

"On the plane, I think. Wait," his brow furrowed in confusion as he shook his head, "that's still bothering you?"

"It just reminds me that I've got a ticking clock on this type of work." Sudden exhaustion overcame her, and she stifled a yawn. "This might well be my last case."

"It doesn't have to be, if you don't want it to. In fact, I have my doubts."

"Yeah, I know."

Sitting down on the grass, Sonny spoke thoughtfully. "Sometimes being an adult sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"Did I ever tell you about all the times I never thought about my future when I was your age?"

Nancy snorted. "That was what, two years ago?"

"Three."

She sat.

He looked over at her. "You're doing good."

"Which means at one point I'm going to screw up."

Frowning, he asked, "Where is this all coming from, anyway?"

"Just let me do what I came here to do, okay?" Nancy shifted and looked at the hills, and there she was filled with the locale and through that the entire set of circumstances, the last set of circumstances if she stopped taking cases. Taking this one had made everything that much harder.

"Nancy—" he began.

She stood and walked past him to the tent.

This was a different Sonny than the kicked-puppy Sonny in the New Zealand Caves who had doubted his grandfather's word. She knew that that was an infrequent side of him she saw, but it was that one that reminded her that weakness wasn't ever an option for her, the same way that her father's pain at her mother's passing had reminded her.

Two people who were upset couldn't accomplish much. One always had to be okay.

The future wasn't now, she reminded herself. Now was now. No more dwelling.


	6. Chapter 6

Coming from the Midwest, Nancy thought she had felt it all. Air so thick that moving was like trying to run under water, so hot that it became tangible in the way it did when the temperature rose over body temperature. She thought for sure she had felt it all here in Yucatán, that the next day couldn't possibly be hotter than this one. Every day seemed to prove her wrong. But this experience was new in the way all experiences were new. The heat didn't bother her. What bothered her were the things she couldn't see. Here at the site, and there in the future.

A few more days went by before she and the others made their first discovery. Before that the finds had been fragments, so small that the writing on them was not discernable. Beltrán said it had been a slow few weeks for them all, but Nancy could see the heaviness in his step when he thought no one else was looking. The fragments would get a little money on the black market, Nancy guessed, but not much.

Just when she had started to worry that the site was finally running out of artifacts after so many years, something hard clanged against her shovel, sounding almost as if it would start ringing to match the change in the air. She picked up the pace, digging faster and faster until it was completely dislodged. Little chunks of dirt fell off as she knelt and picked it up, but it retained its shape.

This wasn't a fragment.

She pulled a handkerchief from her jeans and wiped away the dirt covering the surface. Several more pockets of dirt chipped off and fell from the center, revealing the find to be a bowl.

A bright pattern of crimson shapes became visible. The color of the bowl itself was lighter, and it looked like wood. Nancy raised and lowered her hand a few times. It weighed about as much as wood.

"What's that you found?" Lou asked, twisting sideways to look.

Nancy held it out to him.

Lou nodded, wiping his brow. "Cool. Might want to let the others know."

"That's it?" she asked. "You aren't excited or anything?"

"This kind of stuff isn't really my bag. Although," the word dragged as he took the bowl from her and turned it around a couple of times, eyes narrowed to shield out the sun, "it's kind of cool how those two shapes look like a sideways 8. Makes you wonder how much modern culture is derived from the Mayans. Not that the sideways eight will actually tell you anything, but it brings the question to mind."

She snatched it from him and traced the shape.

Sonny's eyegoggles.

Nancy froze in horror.

Now she was starting to _think_ like him.

This wasn't good.

Not good at all.

"It doesn't look anything like a sideways 8," she said, a little more loudly than she'd intended. "See? The edges are flat so they're almost square."

Almost like lab goggles. Just like the ones she'd used at the lathe the one time she'd needed to make a dowel rod to fix a band organ in a carousel.

By now their discussion had attracted attention. Once the diggers saw what she was holding, murmurs and exclamations rose into the air. All of them started to walk over except Sonny, who ran. His heels slid on some loose dirt at the edge of the pit, and his hands flew out in front of him to stop the impending fall. Fortunately he was able to steer himself away from Nancy and Lou. But his foot jammed into Lou's foot, and Lou tripped into Nancy's elbow. Nancy jerked forward but regained her balance as the two fell to the ground behind her. The bowl started to slide away, and she tightened her grip right before the edge slipped from her hand.

"Sorry." Sonny's arms flailed about in what could only be construed as overstated, panicked apology. "Sorry."

Lou shook his head. "Geez, dude. _Chill_."

Sonny turned around and called to José. "Don't fire me! It wasn't my fault!"

"Lies," Nancy muttered. Her eyes halted on the bottom of the bowl as she turned it upward to get a better grip on it.

Sonny whipped the other way to face her. " _Do you want to get kicked out?_ " he hissed.

"Pretty sure this is a job you can't get kicked out of," Lou offered.

"I've been kicked out of jobs you can't get kicked out of," Sonny said before other people started appearing at the top of the pit. He composed himself with a wide smile.

"There's something here…" Nancy said as she traced along a faint black horizontal line. There were two lines branching from that one, the first one starting from the edge at an inward angle. The second started a little further in and went outward, toward the first line.

Nancy's finger paused where the lines stopped. She frowned. The shape was so odd. Was it the bottom of a letter?

Beltrán walked past the others and took the bowl from her. "Yes, this'll do quite well."

Some of the other diggers looked down as he said this.

José stepped down toward them. Beltrán tossed the bowl to him.

Nancy's eyes widened at the gesture. She turned to Sonny, who looked shocked as well.

They hadn't yet reprimanded Sonny for tumbling in. And Nancy didn't think it was because of his current attempt to blend in with everybody else crowding around.

José whistled. "Wow. This is the best find in weeks."

Beltrán turned his head close to his. "How much do you think?" he murmured.

He was careful that no one else could hear, and no one did. But he was still faced towards them at a slight angle, and Nancy could read his lips. She looked over at Sonny, whose eyes were frozen on the bowl in his hand. She'd have to tell him what Beltrán said later. Maybe Dylan, too, but Dylan was probably already on it.

In fact, he was working in closer proximity to Beltrán and José than he was yesterday.

And the day before that.

They walked away without so much a word to Sonny, though José sent a glare his way. His fingers dug into the bowl in a way that made Nancy nearly cringe. During her internship at Beech Hill she had handled many artifacts, and Henrik had quickly taught her the correct way to hold them. She went to digs like the one in Egypt already knowing a lot of what they taught the volunteer diggers.

And she had never seen the artifacts treated so roughly.

And if this were any legitimate site, Sonny would have been fired for recklessness. For sure.

"Pon atención!"

Nancy looked up to Beltrán, who had spoken. He and José had stopped talking and were now addressing everyone.

"The rest of the day is free," his voice rang out. "Obviously it is still a few hours too early to set up the tents. So instead we will be going to Tekax."

For the most part this was met with quiet indifference. Some exchanged confused glances.

"We can stock up on supplies while we're there, and some of the new people can learn to find their way around when it's their turn to go." Beltrán shielded his vision and squinted at the tops of hats. In a place where there was such little protection from the sun, everybody needed them. "Where is the tour guide?" he asked finally.

Head bowed, Dylan trudged a few steps forward, adjusting his battered fedora on his brow.

Beltrán swept his arm out and inward in a broad, impatient gesture. "Come up here."

"We don't like the heat any better than you," José added with a bark of laughter.

"Coming," Dylan called, exhaustion seeping into his cheery voice.

"This will be good for all of us, I think," Beltrán said as Dylan made his way to the top of the pit. "Tomorrow, we start fresh."

Everyone moved at the same pace as they plodded up out of the pit and up one of the hills. Behind it was a row of six Land Rovers. Dylan followed Beltrán and José to the car in front. Everyone else piled into the other cars indiscriminately. There seemed to be no friends among the diggers, Nancy noted. No small groups or cliques.

Some sensed the attention and looked around. Nancy kept her head down and stayed on Lou's heels. He went to the last car. As she bent down to get in, she paused and looked over her shoulder. Sonny was far behind.

Like Usrique, the dig site, the city of Tekax lay very south in the region. They had to drive practically along the Campeche border to get there.

"Won't it attract attention if we all leave at the same time?" Nancy asked Lou.

"Area's pretty desolate," Lou answered as he slid into the driver's seat, "so I kind of doubt it. And even if it does, I don't really care."

"What about the people who _are_ here?"

"They mind their own business," Lou said with a note of ironic finality.

Nancy sensed it, but it didn't stop her from asking more questions. Any conversational attempts beyond that were in vain, though, so she settled herself in the front seat of the car. Occasionally she watched the back seat occupants through the interior rear view mirror. They didn't talk.

Taking out a pad of paper, she drew the design from the bottom of the bowl and added questions in bullet points below it. It had to have some cultural or historical significance. She bit the eraser of her pencil. If only she could talk to Henrik.

The 40 minutes passed quickly, and Nancy jumped out of the car as soon as it rolled to a stop. Like its namesake municipality, Tekax had many trees, so many that the city was almost hidden under them. Amber-colored light of the late afternoon glanced off the buildings' vivid red hues.

When all this was over, she needed to come back here. She'd work in the time.

Nancy smiled wanly. She said that about all of her cases. Usually she did work in the time before heading to the airport, but it was never much.

Everyone else filed out and followed José onto a nearby street. Beltrán and Dylan hung behind, talking about something or other.

Walking briskly, Nancy wove through the diggers and hovered over Dylan and the team leaders. The conversation stopped before she was able to hear anything.

The street opened up to a square. Foot traffic was slow as crowds formed around various shops with their wares. Flashes of color on fabric swatches and pottery stole her eyes. There were so many different types of food that the aroma changed everywhere she stepped.

José passed through quickly, heading toward a street on the other side. Nancy followed him, pushing and apologizing as the space between people grew narrower.

Without warning someone appeared in front of her.

Nancy stopped short.

There stood a petite woman craning her neck around as she looked at the street, paying little attention to people in her path. Her light brown hair blew away from her face for a second, allowing Nancy a glance at her in profile. High cheekbones, and her eyes were wide and haughty.

She looked more than vaguely familiar. And yet, it wasn't from any of the cases she had taken in the past two years. At least, Nancy didn't think so. Had she been a suspect? Or had she been a background face from one of the many towns Nancy had visited?

Nancy had seen her somewhere; she was sure of it. And she had never been to Mexico. If she, Nancy, didn't belong here, then this stranger definitely didn't.

Now as their eyes met, Nancy didn't dare look down. She had nothing to hide.

Just when she thought the woman would place her, her nostrils flared, and she turned away.

"Nancy?"

She looked to the side.

"Are you all right?" Dylan asked.

The other diggers twisted around and started muttering, recognizing the loud sound of his voice.

Nancy bowed her head and inhaled sharply. "I'm fine, Dylan," she said in an undertone. If the stranger could place her and the diggers were able to witness that, then she was as good as dead. She trudged past him to join the others. She felt eyes. "Just exhausted from the heat."

"Are you sure? 'Cause you look—"

"I'm fine," she repeated through gritted teeth.

He raised his hands and turned away. For a second or two he looked around blankly, not clear on where everybody was. Then he caught sight of José and Beltrán and trotted ahead to join them.

"Heat exhaustion?" barked a voice from behind.

Nancy turned her head.

Holly clucked her tongue. Sounds of shuffling ensued, and her hand tapped Nancy's elbow, holding a wet wipe. "Here. Use this on your forehead. Always works for me."

Nancy nodded her thanks.

Nearby, Dylan looked on. He was too conspicuous, then, apparently. He needed to work on that.

Everything else was going swimmingly, though. He sensed he was very, very close to earning admittance to Beltrán and José's much-elusive inner circle.

"First, food and water," José muttered to Beltrán. "We're running low on fresh vegetables. We need the diggers to keep their health. And some of the tools need replacing."

Beltrán nodded. "Good place to start. We should also drop by the Pit."

Although his stomach recoiled at the name, Dylan leaned forward. The Pit?

"Claire would have told us if things aren't going smoothly, but it never hurts to check."

Hmmm, Dylan thought. Needed to keep that name in mind. And for now, he had his own questions.

"Hullo." He popped up between the two. "There's a woman," he said innocently. "Petite, long curly hair. Looked at all of us kind of funny."

Beltrán and José exchanged glances. "Claire Warwick," José said.

"Do you know her?"

Beltrán answered with a cutting laugh.

Tentatively Dylan joined in. "Who is she?"

"Claire most graciously opened the site to us. She comes to visit from time to time. The rest of your people will meet her soon."

"So she's not out to kill us then?" Dylan grinned. "Well, I'm chuffed."

"Yes, there's no making her happy—only making her less aggravated, it seems. A fact you'll soon see for yourself."

"Oh," he said mildly. "She'll be visiting?"

"She very seldom comes to the dig. But you," José inclined his head, "will be seeing quite a lot of her, since we do."

Dylan's spirits soared. Sometimes he was wrong in assessing people's views of him, too optimistic. But this proved his feelings had been right.

"As a matter of fact, we will be paying some friends a visit very soon now. You should accompany us."

Perhaps it was the friends in the Pit!

As for Claire…

Dylan started to turn. Nancy would want to know.

But in the middle of the motion he stopped, rolled his shoulders, and instead kept pace with the two team leaders.

Nancy watched them intently, looking for a way in. She needed to get involved on every level she could to get the best understanding of the situation here.

But she had to do so without overreaching.

Sonny tagged behind, head turned back as far as it would go. As they walked past a row of restaurants, his eyes followed the smoke streams to the sky.

José turned around. "You!" he bellowed. "Sunspot!"

Startled out of his reverie, Sonny looked around and then grinned at him, touching his orange hair in a flattered manner. "Sunspot? Never heard that one."

Nancy wasn't sure, but from José's burnt face and string of suspect Spanish words, and the sweat pouring down all their backs, she didn't think it was a term of endearment.

People turned off into buildings as soon as the sun began to set. Gradually the streets emptied until only the diggers remained, a dark and tired parade through the city. Beltrán, José, and Dylan made a few stops for food, water, and tools. Then they made some other stops into suspicious locations, some of them dilapidated almost beyond utility. Nancy kept apace with them, always five steps behind. The rest of the diggers were slow to stop, and a few had walked past the three by the time they figured out that they were the only ones walking.

One such stop was made to a tiny building that leaned to one side. Nancy kept one eye on it and kept Beltrán, José, and Dylan in her peripheral vision, careful not to let the three out of earshot.

Unfortunately, they didn't say a word. Every time José turned, she smiled. For all they knew, she was just a quick walker. Impatient, eager. Beltrán seemed to sense this immediately. After a while, José accepted it.

Beltrán and José conversed briefly in Spanish. Then José took Dylan's elbow. "Come," he said. The three walked down the cracked sidewalk and disappeared inside.

While they were stopped, Lou made his way to the very front, thinking. A few weeks without working his own agenda, and he got withdrawals. It was worse that they wouldn't let him leave the site at night; he didn't really need sleep, he had told them. He had no problems working all night and then working all day; he'd done that both in college and for so many nights when he first came out here. Their continuing refusal made him think that their concerns lay elsewhere.

If Lou was watching his back, then maybe that should have worried him. But he had higher priorities. And, all things considered, the sooner he got out of here, the better. Not because he was working for two creeps who might blow his head off in his sleep but because he couldn't stay away from his project forever.

Also, this dig paid its workers too highly. Much too highly. That was apparent enough in everybody else looking the other way every time Beltrán and José did something suspect.

Something was odd about Dutchman, that Henrik guy. Obviously he had his own interest in finding things for Lou to do and keeping him in the area, but usually the interest was low-intensity. Henrik wanted all these things done, but he didn't necessarily need all these things done.

This was different. This was dangerous and secret. This was not something that Henrik just wanted. Henrik wouldn't have chanced sending anybody out here for information he didn't need.

He had something else going on with this and with the other team he sent out here. Lou didn't know what it was, but he wasn't stupid.

And what was that Nancy Drew person doing here?

She was still way too chatty and inquisitive; that was for sure. In fact, she sounded like some of the girls at Mel's school, from what she had told him about them—particularly the gossips.

She would have fit in really well there.

Lou closed his eyes, feeling strangely exhausted.

He was probably going to be stuck here for a while.

Dylan, José, and Beltrán reappeared at the door. Nancy immediately started walking and met them as they reached the end of the sidewalk. "Supplies?" she asked brightly, knowing that it was nothing of the kind.

Beltrán offered a smile. "Yes, supplies. Supplies of a sort."

"Special supplies," José said, looking less amused. "Why don't you go talk to your friend, the sunspot?"

Dylan sent her a glance corroborating that general sentiment.

Nancy shrugged and backed off. She wasn't going to get anything from them. As frustrating as it was that Dylan wasn't letting her in, at least he was doing his job.

Everybody got moving again. Although Nancy's toes itched to get closer, she stayed at least twenty paces in back of the trio. She passed Lou, whose stride had become more deliberative. By now they had to be almost done here. The sun was close to setting.

Suddenly she heard a quicker clatter of footsteps. They grew closer and closer.

Probably somebody trying to catch up after failing to pay attention to the motion of the rest of the group.

And she thought she knew which somebody.

Sonny ran up to her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder and leaning forward to catch his breath. "Caught you," he huffed triumphantly.

"Guess so."

"Well, good." He nodded at Dylan talking with the two team leaders. "That seems interesting."

"It could be interesting. Give it time."

"What I mean is," he began thoughtfully, "do you think he can resist temptation?"

Nancy looked around. "You mean, can we trust him after he's really in?" She muttered. "I really don't know."

"I figured, but what do you think?"

"I think…" Nancy paused.

Sonny's eyebrows rose inquisitively.

"I think I don't know."

Sonny rolled his eyes. "Unhelpful," he said.

"Sorry?" Nancy offered.

"No, I mean it. I really kind of need to know what you think."

Nancy tried to walk faster, which didn't do much. Being taller, Sonny kept up easily.

"Because I've got no idea," he concluded.

"I haven't seen him in quite a long time. Yes, I want to think he's changed, but I wouldn't want to bet my life on it."

"What does your gut tell you?"

"I get the feeling he's changed. I've dealt with black market dealers before, and he doesn't seem to have the disposition for it."

"And that is all I wanted to know. You could have just said."

Nancy fought back a frustrated sigh. "As if you ever just say."

"Say _whaaaaaat_?" Sonny quipped, head tipping sideways on the second word. He grinned at her.

Nancy laughed a little despite herself. Most of the time she didn't know what to expect. She'd taken notice of his eclectic charm and promptly shoved it so far to the back of her mind that she never saw it coming anymore.

Sonny set his eyes forward, gazing thoughtfully at the near-deserted street. "So," he said quietly, "what do you make of the triangle-looking thing on the bowl?"

Nancy paused. He had seen it too. And, come to think of it, part of it did resemble the bottom of a triangle.

A triangle on a line.

Was the line its shadow?

"It's obviously some sort of symbol," she answered. "There were all sorts of shapes on the bowl, plus the two circles or ovals next to each other." The sideways eight, she thought. "Those could be decorative or ceremonial. I suppose the bowl could have been used for a ritual; I don't remember anything about Mayan rituals. But I did notice that it's made of wood, not stone. You'd think that they'd use a special, more permanent material for ritual objects."

"You never know."

Nancy glanced his way. "You think it is a ritual object?"

"Maybe. Those two circles you mentioned looked like eyegoggles. That was the first thing I saw."

"They can be a lot of things, you know."

"I know. But to me, they look like eyegoggles. The really thick type that aviators used to wear."

"Whoa, slow down. You don't know that that's the case."

"As long as you don't know what something is, any theory is fair game."

"Any _plausible_ theory."

"What's plausible? Plausible is just a set of rules we thought up based on what little we know. Things happen every day that aren't plausible."

"Maybe so, but there's a pattern. Once facts show a certain indication, we can predict other facts. And then those are proven. Knowledge grows that way."

Sonny shook his head. "Too slow. If we wait for things to be proven, we'll be dead before our magnum opus. By the time we get close to finding anything significant, we will have destroyed the world for most living things."

"That's a pretty grand claim."

He stopped walking. "Look around you. Can't you see it?"

"Yeah, I see it, okay?" She said flatly. "But maybe it's not quite as bad as you think."

"We always have to reach farther. It's the only way we'll ever be able to do enough."

Nancy looked up at the sudden firm line of his jaw. That she believed.


	7. Chapter 7

"Who is she…" Nancy wondered. José had just announced that they would be leaving Tekax soon, and she still wasn't able to place the woman she'd encountered some time ago. Usually if she knew someone, she was able to remember who that someone was within a few minutes. So ostensibly this meant that she probably didn't know the stranger.

Still, it didn't sit well with her.

"Who's who?"

Oh yeah. She had forgotten Sonny was there.

Nancy looked over to address him and immediately regretted it. There was an undeniable attractiveness about him that felt strangely like being home, at a home where she'd never been. His nose was in perfect proportion to his face. A playful quality wrapped around his smooth and supple lips. Even the purple glasses added something, very subtle and fine, to his appearance.

All these things she'd noticed before and was able to get away from.

But the eyes ensnared her.

They always had.

Nancy took a deep breath. She used power of observation to notice details. When applied to suspects, it was always to determine a possible incongruity between words and facial expressions to expose lies.

Not to ogle her client.

But Bess had definitely warned her about the eyes.

Maybe she should've listened to her. Maybe then she wouldn't have had to be so distant when she talked to him in New Zealand. Business was business, though. This hadn't been the first time she had to put things into context with some of the better-looking suspects.

It was, on the other hand, the hardest.

And speaking of business being business…

"That woman I saw earlier." She frowned. "I've seen her somewhere before, and she seemed to know me."

"Someone seems to know you?"

"Yes." Nancy said in surprise. "You mean you didn't see her?"

"Guess not." Sonny replied, stroking his chin. "But that formation of clouds is interesting." He pointed ahead. "See?"

"You're not focusing," she chided.

"On what? Some stranger who rubbed you the wrong way?"

"She wasn't just some stranger. I have a hunch."

"Oh." Sonny's eyes stopped on a cluster of people in front of them. Then he turned to her. "Well, that's different."

Nancy fought the temptation to roll her eyes. Anything remotely intuitive was valuable to him. "I watched a movie once that said, 'Detectives aren't allowed to believe in coincidences.'" She let the words linger in both their minds before continuing. It had always struck her, how honest and succinct they were. "I can't ever leave a stone unturned."

"That's…" Sonny shook his head and blinked. "Wow. Now I sort of get it."

Her eyes stayed with distant figures of the team. She was getting really far behind. "Get what?"

"What you do every day," Sonny replied simply. "Seriously, though? I wouldn't worry about it." His voice lowered in pitch. "You don't think she's dangerous, do you?"

"I don't know," Nancy said. "But I suppose if she actually knew me, she would have blown my cover right away."

"Likely," Sonny offered.

"So I saw that you mentioned a few specific rituals that the bowl could have been used for in your notebook."

He let out a laugh. "You're _still_ reading my things?"

She shrugged. "Enough of them."

"How did you even know I brought one?"

Nancy slowed her step, moving behind him and reappearing at his left side. She lifted his hand and tapped the blue stain on the side of it. "This."

Sonny looked at her in confusion. His fingers involuntarily closed over hers.

"Besides," a grin spread over her face, "aren't you always leaving those things behind?"

"I don't know," he said blankly.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Nancy continued. "There's something special about that bowl; you're right. The fact that it's made of wood and it nonetheless survived—whole—is a point of distinction. I'm dying to find out what it's all about."

"And I'm sure you will, soon."

"Maybe." Nancy's focus shifted from the conversation to the whirring, cogitative vibes of her brain. Home for her was a speed, not a place. "I need more, I think. More finds."

Sonny nudged her shoulder with his. "You've got more finds. It'll happen in good time."

"I almost wish it wouldn't," She said to the horizon.

"Well," he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, "I suppose I could hide all of the discoveries until you see fit to investigate them. You know, while you spend time here until you get sick of it. Except I don't know if I can resist taking a peek at the artifacts in the meantime. Sorry."

"Of course you can't." Realizing that they had stopped, Nancy started walking again, mind basking in the hypotheticals. "But if you spoil them for me when I get back, I'll be really mad, okay?"

He looked over, smiling, pleasantly surprised that she was playing the game. "I'm pretty good at not spoiling things," he said.

Instantly Nancy remembered his hidden agenda at Pacific Run. "You're too good at not spoiling things," she agreed. Redirecting the conversation to his notes, she spoke again. "I did want to hear more about that rough account you wrote about the Mayans, here, two thousand years ago."

"There used to be a Mayan civilization, older than any other. It was a large, thriving civilization, meant to last a long, long time. Remnants have been discovered for many, many years and continue to be dug up to this day."

Nancy watched as she listened. He gestured with his free hand as he spoke, resurrecting long-fallen buildings and people in his reconstruction of history, pointing to approximate locations where they would have stood if this were Usrique. His dark eyes were unchanging, the reflecting, simmering embers of the fire just above them. Every so often he would glance over at her, and she was as quick to look away. Every time the orange hair lingered in her vision, scorched onto her eyelids. Even it had grown on her. "Incredible," she murmured.

"Hmmm?"

Her eyes snapped back into focus.

"You like my version of things?" Sonny asked with a hint of amusement.

"It's… captivating," she said with a light chuckle. "But also very, very unlikely."

"Not as unlikely as it seems," he replied ebulliently. "It might be true."

A few minutes ago this would have annoyed Nancy. Right now it didn't. Maybe it was a fluke, or maybe she was starting to respect his opinion.

No matter how far out in left field it was.

"And… about that… I've been curious about something for a while now, Nancy." He glanced sideways at her. "Why did you want to help me this time around? It's not like you believe in this stuff."

"I took it because…" She bit her lip. To tell, or not to tell? "I don't turn down cases," she admitted.

"That's the only reason?"

"Pretty much."

Sonny's eyes lowered to the road. "You've never turned down a case?"

After a moment of hesitation, she shook her head.

"So nobody has tried to use your skills for bad instead of good?"

"I've been lucky."

"Are you still thinking about if you're going to stop with the cases?"

"It's not a question of if." Her smile tightened. "It's a question of when."

"Shame," Sonny replied vaguely. "Then I'll have no reason to keep calling."

Her smile revitalized, and she looked up at him before she could think about what she was doing. "And what about your future?" she heard herself asking.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going back to school?"

He let out a laugh. "You _did_ read everything."

"You wanted me to," Nancy retorted.

"Pretty lame excuse. You would have read them anyway."

"Not if they weren't interesting."

"But everything I write is interesting."

"I doubt that."

One eyebrow slanted up. "Interesting enough for you to remember."

"In case you couldn't tell, I remember most things."

"Do you?"

"I do."

"Ah, but—" Sonny started to say. He paused, triumphant, mouth open to say something better, index finger in the air. Slowly his grin faded. "Hmmmmm." His eyes turned hazy and contemplative as they lowered to his boots.

Nancy crossed her arms and suppressed a smirk. Finally she had beat him at his own game. Catching people off-guard.

But somehow, watching him, she forgot to revel in her victory.

Wasn't her fault that he was so damned distracting when he was thinking hard about something.

"You've got me there," he said finally. Then he proceeded with the topic. "Until recently I was pretty dead set against going back and finishing my degree. But it might actually help. For credibility reasons."

"Yeah, a doctorate makes an alien expert seem much less crazy. Definitely see how that works."

"PhD, and yes, it does, actually. Studying extraterrestrial life is pretty complicated. Proving the existence of aliens isn't just, ooo, aliens," he waved his arms around for effect, "it takes an acute knowledge of astrobiology and/or astrophysics. And Udub has a graduate program geared at astrobiology. Of course I specialize in exobiology, the smaller group of that—"

Nancy would never admit she was lost. Instead she memorized the terms to write in her notebook, noting to herself to add an asterisk and a note: _online_.

Of course, most people would be lost in the ramblings of a madman.

"—and I'm sure that knowing more and having more to show for it would bring more people to the classroom—"

"—for more fake lessons," Nancy added.

Sonny sighed. "For more fake lessons in the bogus classroom, yeah, sure, but it might bring more people to S.P.I.E.D. and the support would allow us to do infinitely more, so much faster, and we might actually stand a chance. I wish I could do as much with a Masters, but let's face it, nothing beats being able to put 'Sonny Joon, PhD' on the cover of my next book."

"The artifacts have been assembled and the beacon has been sent, or so you believe. What more do you want?"

"To follow up on the results. Make sure that we're all capable of living with considerate…ness… is that a word?"

Nancy nodded quickly.

"—all capable of living with considerateness, not just a small number of us. Watch for the signs and make sure I'm where they want me to be, doing the things they want me to do." Sonny began to talk faster. "Hope that the impact is more than what I can see…"

Sensing the abruptness, Nancy waited for him to gather his thoughts and continue.

"I think, in a way, that's what we're all supposed to do. I see you doing it. Making sure injustices are exposed. As many of them as you can, if you can't even turn cases down."

"I can turn cases down," she retorted. "I just haven't learned how to yet."

"Fair enough," Sonny replied. "But point is, you don't have to believe in the Testers to want what I want. Nobody does. Jamila doesn't, and I know she believes in aliens about as much as most normal people do. Zilch."

"There are other ways to get there," Nancy said. "Why the need to make a good impression on the aliens?"

"Because the other ways aren't working; or at least they're not working fast enough. Sometimes you need belief as a catalyst to get other people to see the importance of your message."

Nancy stepped carefully around a pothole. "That can get dangerous," she said. She attended church with her father when she could. It brought her a solace she couldn't find in other places. But she remembered distinctly her history lessons, specifically the ones detailing the Crusades.

Sonny nodded. "It can. That's one good thing about S.P.I.E.D. being such a small group. People don't get out of control. It'd be nice to get a few more people, but I mostly like it the way it is. And it's not likely that we're ever going to get very many people, not enough to get a subset of extremists. Yeah, though, main point, lots of other people have the same idea."

Pondering this, Nancy stayed silent.

"It would be cool to meet them, though," Sonny mused. "All the rest of the parts of the story are there."

A few more seconds passed before she spoke. "So, being in the right place, staying until knowing it's the right time, since I assume that you have to get there before to make sure you are there when something happens. All very vague. Just as vague as when you first talked to me about this. So I'm asking, again, what exactly are we looking for?"

"We're looking for proof that Mayan civilization is older than we think, proof that this place has some sort of significance. To fulfill those roles set for us by being in the right place in exactly the right time."

"That's…" Nancy's nose wrinkled. "Not very specific."

"Does it need to be?"

"And it's almost exactly what you told me before."

"It's all I know."

"Running around without any idea of why we're here is dangerous. Even more so when the site is dangerous in its own right."

"If it gets too dangerous, we're outta here. But things are progressing. I think we'll find what we're looking for."

"And how will you know you've found what we're looking for when you have no idea what that object is in the first place?"

"Good question." Sonny stretched his neck toward his other shoulder. "I can only really say that it's always worked out before. I've always left a place with something I didn't have when I went there. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I know something's here."

The talking died down after that, and Nancy's thoughts lagged in the heat. For a while she might have even stopped thinking, simply allowing her mind to become a vessel for all of the sense-inducing elements of the city. Not until the vehicles were in sight did she return to case details.

And…

She looked down at their still-linked hands, puzzled. How had that happened?

Oh, right. That had been her move.

Her face froze. What was she doing? Was she…

Flirting?

On assignment?

That did it. No more Sonny for the next week. At this rate it would take her that long to find something worth reporting to him, anyway.

With Ned, everything had been so simple. They always agreed, almost never fought, exchanged dorky text messages and quick kisses between planes taking her from one case right to another. And when she returned he was always there after the weeks or months she'd be gone, with open arms.

Everything about it had been perfect. Ned never annoyed her with weird questions. All his questions were straightforward, about the places she'd seen. And he'd never been to those places, so he was content just to listen. No follow-ups. No jealousy over her experiences. Just words and the cozy space between words, curled around them in easy chairs in the Nickersons' living room before a fire.

Even the breakup had been perfect. No questions afterward. No tears. Just a single truth that was perfectly sensible and shouldn't have gotten so far under her skin.

She missed him so much.

But somehow, here, she lost all of the words that were said that day to the easy chairs, the laze, the warmth.

Maybe, just maybe, things were less complicated than she was making them out to be.

No more Sonny next week… she reminded herself, halfheartedly.

A glow surrounded them with a quiet hum of energy that never abated. At any point it could grow more jagged, less smooth. Some days it would roar. But today it was halcyon, stagnant, like the heartbeat of someone at rest.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a clear and sunny day in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The sun had risen early. From the way people smiled, Henrik was sure something was wrong. For all the time he wasn't being assailed by his boss's orders, he incessantly tapped his pencil against his temple, wondering how he had become so distractible. Surely the weather was to blame.

Since Henrik got in, he had been fielding phone calls from Watson's curator telling him to hurry with his translation work because the deadline for the new exhibit had been pushed up a week, Holly Klee demanding to know what exactly was going on at the site, his father wondering why he never called home, and countless others. Almost the minute he had unlocked his office his cell phone had started vibrating. That call had been from a very drunken Joanna Riggs begging him to return to Beech Hill and relieve her of her current epigrapher-from-Hell. As much as it had impressed him that she could have arrived at such a state by eight in the morning, he'd had to refuse. She had called him a few choice words without really meaning them and hung up.

Since then, it had been almost nonstop.

Henrik's weary eyes pushed upward to the clock. 1 PM. After taking a quick look around the room (as if anybody else would be there), Henrik reached for the newspaper he'd picked up from his doorstep that morning. A little light reading would serve him well.

He turned to international news.

Briefly he skimmed through headlines. War this, economic crisis that. General global decay.

But soon something caught Henrik's eye.

**Mexican Artifacts' Questionable Provenance Draws Cultural Diplomats**

A special day it was, indeed, when America's leading newspapers decided to cover the southern hemisphere for a change.

"On Saturday the United Nations met to discuss the state of black market activity in Mesoamerica," Henrik read. Perhaps this should have been good news, but instead he became wary. He continued. "'The black market is thriving particularly because it's adapted to the circumstances,' said Tom Russell, U.S. ambassador to the United Nations. 'It's equally there and not there. It can disappear anytime anybody's looking for it. But suspicious activity seems to be off the charts there, which leads me to believe that the governments in Mexico and Central America are doing little if anything to stop it.'"

Neither here nor there, Henrik thought to himself. Everybody else had known that for years. Leave it to the nations' governments to lag hopelessly behind.

"Others are concerned that black market activity of the region is undermining legitimate trade on a global scale." This was followed by another quote: "'Illicit trade of antiquities is becoming common, accepted," said archaeologist Mary Bertram. "In its own way, it's legitimate. And not only is that not fair in and of itself, but it's taking away from all of the people who are trading it on the level. Mayan artifacts are sought all over the world. I fear that people will keep gravitating towards the black market until it becomes habit and the legitimate trade will lose its market. It has to stop."

Maybe, but why did Henrik get the feeling that this was going to be followed by some insipidly ludicrous proposal?

"Many nations ambassadors have resolved to travel to the area and conduct their own investigations."

There it was. An inherent logical fallacy. Going in there completely transparently, knowing that these dealers would seep through the cracks once they knew their activities were surveilled, yet hoping that it'd be somehow different this time.

His restlessness precluded him from reading the rest of the article. How on earth would the Mexican government justify allowing Nancy and her crew in followed immediately by a slew of diplomats? How had the diplomats not been declared _personae non grata_ yet?

Picking up his phone, Henrik dialed for the governor.

The line clicked. "Alessandra Moreno."

"This is Dr. Van Der Hune," he said coldly. "I called you shortly after the investigation at Usrique launched."

"I'm very busy, Dr. Van Der—"

"Yes, you can help me," Henrik cut across, "by telling me what the hell is going on."

Her voice turned angry. "What are you talking—"

"I've heard about your swarm of new visitors. Diplomats."

"I am under an enormous amount of pressure—"

"So you're just leaving the current investigators out to dry?"

"No! I informed the Mexican state governor of the ongoing investigation there. He bought some time with the U.N. officials, but they're very impatient. They want their own investigation. They are putting us under an enormous pressure."

"To perform an investigation that will ultimately be futile. Be sure and forward my congratulations."

"I am aware that the situation is… less than ideal."

"Now things are a good deal more dangerous for my contacts, I'll have you know. Everyone will be suspicious thanks to the news. The black market dealers will start screening people on-site. And if the diplomats come to investigate, their cover will surely be blown."

"I'm aware, Dr. Van Der Hune."

"And how are you going to protect them?"

"I'm not sure if we can."

"I see," Henrik replied dryly. "And I suppose you wouldn't consider getting them out of there."

"Their investigation is better than the one proposed; it's more covert. Besides, the young man who called me sounded very eager to go to the site," she tacked on.

"He doesn't know his dangers."

"Judge me all you like," she answered heatedly. "You would have done exactly the same thing. For years, _years_ I have been forced to stand by and watch as artifacts get panhandled and the government just ignores it. He wanted to investigate. He got to investigate. I have to go."

The line clicked.

Henrik slouched forward in his seat, rubbing his hands down his face. For weeks, Usrique wasn't important enough for anyone to pay attention to. Now they decided to investigate. Now they decided they needed people down there.

Nancy was capable, at the very least. And maybe Sonny knew his dangers. From what he'd heard, Sonny was certainly in danger enough of the time for the average person to know.

Thumbing through his contacts, Henrik paused at Nancy's number. Direct contact would certainly be the quickest way to warn her and the others of possible danger.

But he had been so careful that this investigation couldn't be traced back to him, that Dr. Fuentes couldn't be traced back to him. If Nancy's phone fell into the wrong hands, it might at the very least result in questions. Henrik didn't know any of the diggers at Usrique—of that he was fairly sure—but other diggers knew other diggers who may have known smugglers or some of his other past associates.

With that thought looming over his head, he moved past Nancy's number to the one Sonny had left with him.

Jamila El-Dine.

If she could somehow contact Sonny or Nancy with the news, it would be safer. As an Egyptologist, she didn't work with the same set of people.

After he pushed in the number the phone rang several times, each grating a little more on Henrik's nerves. It didn't help that he had actual work to do, and the longer this took, the more likely someone would be at the door nagging him to do it.

"This is Jamila El-Dine. Please leave a message at the beep."

"My name is Henrik Van Der Hune." Henrik stifled a sigh at what he'd have to say next. "Sonny Joon gave me your number. I'm concerned about the timeline for this project. Please call me as soon as possible."

He hung up. As he grew older, Henrik felt more and more like the temperamental artist archetype. He could work for long periods of time, but he preferred to be inspired.

Again he looked at the clock.

1:15.

This was going to be a long day.

His cell phone began vibrating again.

A long, long day.

* * *

Paris looked cold that night. Even from the window of a toasty radiator-heated apartment, the wind lines were almost visible. Renee would have liked to continue looking, but call time was in an hour and a half. She had to prepare.

14-year-old Jane Penvellyn lay on her stomach on the floor, alternately pumping her feet up in the air while she read a magazine. At one point her eyes froze on a sentence, and she slammed her finger down on the page and leapt up. "Mum, what's this?" She asked, bounding over to Renee, who was in front of her vanity.

Renee looked over at the magazine briefly before returning to her reflection. "Diplomats doing what diplomats do."

"Now that Dad's the ambassador, do you think he'll be going, too?"

"Why? Do you want to go to Mexico?"

"Well, I've never _been_ there, have I? And Dad's taken me on a lot other of his trips. I've been to now," Jane counted on her fingers, "North America, Asia, Australia, Afr—" she frowned, then nodded. "Yeah. The one time I was in Marrakech for a day. Africa, and of course Europe. Five of the seven continents," she declared.

"Mexico's in North America, you know."

"Hmmm…" Jane frowned again. "I suppose you're right. But I've still never been to Central America."

"Mexico's not in Central America, Janie. Isn't Therese teaching you geography?"

Jane's frown turned to a glower. She didn't think that she'd dislike any tutor more than Ethel, but Therese was so _old_. She was a Bonapartist 200 years after the fact and hated all English people. She couldn't wait to go back to Blackmoor when it was her father's turn to take her.

"Don't do that with your face, Janie, dear. It makes you look dark and later gives you wrinkles."

Jane sighed. "I don't care about wrinkles."

"You will in a few years."

"I don't think I ever will."

"Just wait."

"Well, either way, Dad never gets assignments in that part of the world. He's always in Prague, or Munich, or _Rome_. Which is surprising. It seems like America's having the most problems playing nice with other countries, but everybody else just ignores it." She popped one of Renee's chocolates into her mouth. "And this one might just be big enough for Dad. It's got a lot of people cross."

"Which is why you're smiling, no doubt."

"But I rather like making people cross, isn't it fun?"

"It's fun on the stage," Renee agreed. Although she wouldn't admit it, she derived that same glee from working off the emotions of other singers on the stage. Off the stage she liked it just as much, bringing out people's emotions, which typically meant angering them, since people—especially Englishers—didn't appreciate wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Hugh had divorced her for a reason. Opera was for the passionate.

"Anyway, you've got _Boheme_ , so you won't miss me."

"But who will I play games with?" Renee asked with a knowing smile.

"Mum, you can make up games! It's not that hard."

"For you, it's not. You know the woman who designed my dress?"

"Yeah?" With distaste, Jane looked at the strapless red dress with lace and ruching on the sides.

"One time I got a furious letter from her in the post. The server on your website had been down."

"How did she know you were my mother?"

"I don't know. I met her at the stage door one night. She wanted to see how her costumes looked on stage—I was wearing this dress, as a matter of fact. I think I happened to mention that the Jane from the Internet was my daughter."

"She knew who I was?" She asked, impressed.

"Apparently."

"And then she went to jail." Jane pursed her lips in disapproval. "Why do you still have the dress from then? She was a madwoman."

"Maybe, but her designs weren't mad."

Eyeing the dress again, Jane reached out and pulled at the fabric. "Why does your company only do modern interpretations, Mum? I think the costumes would be so much better if they were period."

"No idea, Janie. But I do know that I have to go." Renee rose and reached for her clutch.

"Can I go with Dad?" Jane popped up in front of her, blocking the purse from her hand. "CanIcanIcanI?"

"Ask Hugh. Although I can't imagine why he'd say no," she added, mostly to herself.

"Yes!" Jane embraced Renee. "You're the best!"

"You don't even know that he's going yet!"

"Oh, I know." Her grin split her face. "I have a feeling."

* * *

Dylan tapped his boot against soil on one of the hills in Beltrán's usual spot, watching everybody work. After the first burst of trust, things had plateaued. José and Beltrán were seldom out of sight, and Dylan knew they were watching him. Apparently they wanted to see what he would do with the information they had already given him before giving him more. Dylan understood, but it was tedious. He was impatient. Things here were moving too slowly.

What his next step would be, Dylan had no idea. Unfortunately there was no way to speed things up without drawing suspicion from the team leaders. He had to find a crack in their fortress, but as far as he could tell, there weren't any. The two of them were thicker than thieves. He had to work to impress both.

Next time he looked, the sun hung much lower in the sky than he had last remembered. He couldn't waste time thinking. It would take him too long, anyway. Strategizing was best left to Nancy and that other fellow, Sonny. Dylan had to find out what he could on his end, and until now it had been pretty straightforward. But he needed more information, and fast. Something was telling him that, and although Dylan didn't claim a sixth sense about these things, he knew better than to ignore the vibe. They all had to hurry.

Now that everybody had been working for most of the day, they'd be tired. Their defenses would be down. If ever there was a time to try and pry information out of them, it would be now.

Dylan stumbled down the closest pit and approached the digger in it, who wouldn't talk except in short, nervous Spanish replies. Maybe he really didn't understand English, but Dylan's presence made him nervous, as if he could sense where the conversation was headed. Dylan noted this and moved on.

The next few diggers wouldn't humor him, either. Some gave simple replies in Spanish while others said nothing at all. Slowly the air started to compress as the muscles around their mouths tensed.

On his way to the next pit he walked slowly, leisurely, dispelling any air of trouble that was clouding his mind. They thought he had nothing to hide. That's what they needed to think.

Before addressing the next digger, Dylan thought. He really needed to get better at being underhanded. It didn't help that he had a naturally open demeanor. Even if he wasn't going to continue with this… activity, it was a good skill to have.

But it would be so much easier if he did continue with it.

Wearily he dug his feet into the ground and placed his hands on his knees. Suddenly he couldn't wait to get out of here.

Then, summoning a smile, he straightened. This was a new pit, he noticed. It had to be, since it was shallow. "Hello."

No reply.

He should not have expected otherwise. Still he pushed on, undeterred. "Ever talk to those two chaps up there?" He gestured to the space where they normally stood, forgetting that they weren't there at the moment. "You know, when you're not working? They seem like affable fellows."

Still nothing.

Dylan swayed forward, lowering his voice. "So there's nothing else going on here?"

The digger flinched and hunched over further, putting more weight into his shovel.

Standing up straight, Dylan moved his gaze to the ground and sky. "You know, I find it lonely around here. I just want someone to talk to."

"We do not talk here, Señor."

His eyes darted over to him. It had been so long since anyone had talked and it had been spoken so quietly that Dylan almost thought he didn't hear. "What was that?" he asked.

"Hey!"

Dylan tensed.

The digger bowed his head, pulling the brim of his hat over the cheek facing José as he approached.

"What is this?" José asked.

"Just making conversation," Dylan replied, pushing away all traces of apprehension from his face.

"What were you discussing?" His eyes narrowed down to slits.

Dylan's mouth tightened. The digger continued with his shovel. The normal breeze of words in and across the pits had stopped.

Lying wouldn't benefit. Even Dylan recognized that. There wasn't even any need for José to ask, since he already knew.

Expertly José stepped into the pit, feet gripping the ground so that he didn't slide. He pushed forward until the brim of his hat slid up on Dylan's forehead. "We expect our workers to work, Señor Carter."

Dylan's eyebrows rose. "Do you?" In the past few days, Beltrán and José had given them the impression that he had a different job now that he was among the more... executive ranks.

For a few seconds José's eyes corroded his brain, moving through the back of his head until he felt him in the hairs on his neck. They stared at one another, snapped into place as if their skin was no longer malleable.

José turned to the digger and yelled at him in Spanish. As he was about to turn back to Dylan another voice barked at them, and Dylan hoped José hadn't seen him startle.

Beltrán stood at the top of the pit, beckoning to José. He leaned down and offered an arm. José took it, lifting himself out as they gripped each other's elbows. But before turning Beltrán looked at him askance, his usual smile gone.

Dylan gave them a minute's head start before leaving the pit himself. He wondered what exactly Jamila had gotten him into. Not that he was the type to run away from danger. He'd been telling the truth when he told her that danger didn't scare him. But this place gave him the heebie-jeebies.

Despite the circumstances, he couldn't suppress a wry grin. Jamila certainly must have had a special place for him in her heart to send him here.

And this was more difficult than he'd expected. Granted, he didn't have an _Infiltrating the Black Market for Dummies_ book lying around, but enough charm and partial honesty had always seemed to work before. Frankly he was pleased that he only had to face suspicion on two fronts and not from his own team, as well, considering that Jamila surely had nothing good to say about him, but this was getting worse, not better. Things had to wrap up soon. Everybody else had their own areas of expertise. He couldn't be caught jabbering with them anyway. And if Nancy felt like getting pushy and giving him advice—which seemed to be her consideration based on the way she was looking at him—then too bad. Breaking the distance barrier he'd crossed upon tossing his lot in with them wouldn't get her anywhere.

He had to do this his own way.

From several pits away, Nancy's eyes narrowed. Dylan was being far too overt in his tactics. She'd have to keep that in mind, but for now she paid attention to Beltrán and José who were nearby. The wind blowing that day gave them a bit of relief from the heat, but it also made eavesdropping more difficult. She reverted to reading lips again.

"These are friends of ours," Beltrán said tightly. "When you lash out like that, it makes them think you have something to hide. We wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea, would we?"

José lowered his eyes and muttered an agreement.

Beltrán nodded. "Good. Let's not repeat it." He stepped off to his post.

Nancy turned back to the digging as José looked around. Although she was sure she had looked away in time, she felt watched. Twice she reconstructed the simple action, remembering that she had last seen the back of his head and a sliver of his cheek as he turned. He could not have seen her looking.

Yet somehow she was sure that José was the one watching her right now.


	9. Chapter 9

For the past ten minutes now Nancy still felt like she was being watched. It was all she could do not to turn around and check, but she knew that wouldn't be wise. The team leaders had been scrutinizing her since she came, especially José. Over and over again Nancy catalogued her actions to see if she had done anything suspicious. It was still early in the investigation, and she hadn't taken any significant risks with her cover yet. The only snag so far was the strange woman in Tekax. And she had the feeling that Dylan already knew who she was and, for whatever reason, wasn't telling Nancy. That didn't sit well with her, but for now she had to let it rest.

"Nancy!" José called.

She sighed soundlessly.

"Youuuuuu're in for it," Lou said, sounding mildly gleeful.

"Yeah. Don't pocket anything you find." Nancy climbed out of the pit.

"Ooo," he hissed as if he'd been burned. Sassy Nancy."

Shaking her head as she walked away, Nancy wondered why Lou was in such good spirits. She noticed that Beltrán was nowhere in sight and that one of the cars was missing. Apparently he had gone to Tekax for supplies.

If José hadn't waited for Beltrán to be there to have a talk with her, he must have seen something he thought was of immediate concern.

Nancy catalogued her actions one more time. Still came up blank. She hadn't done or said anything suspicious…

Unless her conversations with the others on her dig team could be construed as suspicious.

She'd seen how it was here. Nobody talked, not even to pass the time when they were working.

Maybe, just from that, he knew she was hiding something.

For a moment she felt slightly ill. This was her last case all over again. Suspicion closing in on her assumed identity more every day. She'd only just solved the case and gotten out in time. Her father didn't know how close of a call that was. He was still furious over Scotland. And what had scared Nancy about that case was not that she was afraid of staying.

Because honestly, she had been more afraid of leaving.

She knew she needed answers, always. That was the only way she could get to sleep at night. Until Scotland, she'd never had problems with insomnia. She knew in all likelihood that it wasn't healthy, the way she needed them. Cathedral's file on her made that all too clear where it noted her obsession with finding out Shimizu Kasumi's fate at the Ryokan Hiei, pushing into private matters and disregarding boundaries despite the reservedness of the culture. She had been aware of it then, that her approach was probably tactless. But she'd been doing them a service even though they couldn't see it yet; she told herself that. She remembered exactly what she said when she asked Takai for an explanation—"I need to know." It kept thundering through her head as she'd read her file, merging cacophonically with "Not combat ready."

The sick feeling increased as she remembered how much she'd taken that file to heart. "Not combat ready." She had been so sure that she was unfailingly objective because she forced herself to be that way. But the glaring error lay in her methods, exposing her as inherently subjective, proving that she was not objective just by the lengths to which she went to find the truth… long past it being worth it. An objective person would have remembered that she was on vacation, not a hired detective, and that she had no right to barge into the personal lives of the people working the ryokan. An objective person would have immediately recognized Scotland as a trap.

And an objective person would recognize the fact that, right now, there was a significant chance that she was in danger.

But Nancy had to push away the queasiness. She started to rationalize. There had to be a reason for José's calling her here, and it was not necessarily the worst possible one. She was just still jittery over the last case. That was all.

When she reached José, she offered a smile. To her astonishment, he returned it. "Hola, Señorita," he said.

Nancy inclined her head in greeting.

"I have watched you work for a time now. I think you're a hard worker."

As Nancy tried to predict the point of this talk, her mind couldn't get away from one thing. Was he going to ask her to take on something else? Something more furtive? That would speed up the investigation process, surely. But she was still put off by all the teeth he was showing right now. That couldn't mean anything good.

"I think you're motivated and that you are not led easily astray by personal choices. And you seem to have integrity."

It bothered her how very little of an idea she had where this was going. She kept smiling brightly and nodded in agreement to the things he said. That seemed to be the safest thing to do.

"It seems you have taken a shine to one of the other workers." José paused. "The sunspot, yes?"

Nancy valiantly fought the temptation to blush and sputter denials. She blocked from her mind the sudden image of him smiling and walking toward her in that slightly crooked path he always took. Instead she cleared her throat and allowed her eyes to harden in an offended manner. Still some trace of her dismay must have shown on her face, since José laughed.

"It is all right. You don't have to deny it."

In her mind she weighed this. That excuse was a perfectly acceptable explanation for their working relationship and ulterior motives at the site, no matter how much she personally objected to it. It covered all the time she spent with him comparing notes. So, warily, she nodded. She allowed Sonny's likeness in her mind. She allowed herself to grin in reaction to it.

"It is not surprising in a woman as attractive as yourself."

She didn't respond.

"We're aware of these relationships coming up from time to time. Claire, our leader, does not like these relationships. Neither does Beltrán very much."

"Really?" Nancy asked, feeling it was safe to push the point a little. "Beltrán seems easygoing."

"He is, once everyone follows the rules." José laughed. "He is in the most contact with Claire. He wants things done."

Claire, thought Nancy. The name sounded familiar. Of course it was only a first name, but it was also old-fashioned. She hadn't come across many Claires in the course of her travels.

She wouldn't push that point, she decided. For now things were safe enough. Asking questions about the leader might arouse suspicion. Dylan probably knew, and again, she'd have to live with that until she found a safe time and place to communicate with him.

"Beltrán is less open-minded than he comes across. He would not be pleased to hear about this. He would tell you to cut it off immediately."

Well, then. So much for that excuse.

Unless…

Suddenly it appeared to her. The rift. The weakness in Beltrán and José's bond that could be exploited.

"I myself see no problem with it," José continued. "They think that it makes people less motivated. But you seem like a driven woman. I encourage you to pursue whatever relationship you like."

"Well," said Nancy. "Uh, thank you." Still, she thought as she analyzed his choice of words, 'encourage' seemed like a strong one for an action that broke the rules. There had to be strings attached.

"If," he continued—sure enough—"you help me with a few things."

This would be a great opportunity for more snooping, she realized. "Yes," she agreed quickly.

"You really like this young man, I see."

She looked down to her feet, embarrassed that he had read it as such.

"We need to find sellers while preparing the artifacts for liquidation."

Briefly Nancy considered whether she should look shocked. She decided she would not.

José met this with approval. "You are perceptive for your age. I knew this would not be a surprise to you. Not with how quickly your guide friend was swallowed up. Speaking of that," he stepped closer and spoke next to her ear. "Keep an eye on that Dylan Carter. Beltrán will not have me look into him, but I am sure he is untrustworthy."

Nancy's brow furrowed in confusion. Actual confusion that happened to be appropriate for the front she put on. Until a minute ago she had thought she was the one José suspected.

"I know he is a member of your team. Perhaps it is surprising to someone as young and innocent as you. But Dylan is too righteous. There is something about his nature that does not agree with what we're doing here."

Righteous? This impression surprised Nancy. She'd exposed his dishonesty in Egypt, after all. Quickly she ducked her head to obscure her facial expression.

"Beltrán doesn't know I'm bringing someone else in. I think he is relying too heavily on Dylan." José's eyes again turned piercing. "Please, Señorita, keep this to yourself."

Nancy nodded. "Of course."

"Very well. I'll call for you when I need you."

"Goodbye," she said, and left. By the time she had returned to her pit, she found that nothing had happened. Lou was still digging away contentedly. Knowing him, he was probably pretending that there were dinosaur bones just below the surface.

This stroke of luck was almost unbelievable. All the times José had been watching her, it wasn't suspicion after all: it was calculation. And maybe he trusted her so easily because he saw her as less smart, less likely to blow the lid on everything, because she was young and maybe also because she was female. Now, though, things would pick up. She'd be taking part in the more secret activities that had evaded her so far in her investigation, the ones Dylan had barred her from.

Her thoughts paused there.

Dylan.

Dylan was in trouble. Shortly he'd be in more trouble. Now she had to figure out how to "investigate" him and protect him at the same time.

Nancy took a look around. José had disappeared momentarily.

And Dylan was still here, walking around. He wasn't talking to any of the diggers, though… he had learned that lesson.

Most of the time he disappeared along with José and Beltrán. It was rare when he was around when one of them—especially Beltrán—wasn't.

Maybe now it would be safe to go talk to him.

Changing her mind, Nancy stopped before leaving the pit again. Even if José wasn't around, it was still too soon to talk to Dylan after their conversation. All of the diggers were witnesses, and if Beltrán or José thought they saw or knew something helpful, something told Nancy that they'd be able to drag it easily out of the otherwise-quiet diggers. After all, they were the reason they stayed so quiet. They were clearly afraid. And if word got back to José that Nancy had gone straight to Dylan, he might think that she was trying to warn him.

She'd have to find Dylan after everybody stopped working at sunset. Everybody was tired and less observant then. They'd think little of it.

She took her phone out of her pocket to check the time. 2:37. For now she could throw herself into the work, as always. Maybe Lou would be less of a mime and actually talk now that his morale seemed to be high.

Her hopes were dashed when Lou didn't talk much except to talk to himself. He projected elaborate plans inward of how he would find something groundbreaking at Chicxulub because he knew what he was looking for more than anybody else did and how after that his art career would take off because people would have to listen to him now that he was super smart because he discovered something at Chicxulub that nobody found for millions of years and he and Poppy would collaborate on a drawing or painting or sculpture a mile wide and long in the bottom of the Grand Canyon and Mel would play cello at the grand opening of the exhibit with a piece she composed. It would be somber, thoughtful, something with gravitas to mark the creation of another world with hills and craters. He even hummed the tune to himself and slapped a rhythm against his hip.

Listening to him made time run longer and lonelier to Nancy. Lou had something to work toward.

Everybody had things figured out except for her, it seemed. She hadn't been to college since before the case at Paseo Del Mar High. And it was hardly worth going back, anyway, since she had only been gone for a semester. A semester during which nobody's laptops or phones got stolen. A very boring semester for Nancy. She'd been relieved when Aunt Eloise invited her to Florida. Especially when she remembered that Eloise was a school librarian. After the semester she'd had, Nancy was elated at the prospect of chasing down missing library books.

She smiled at the memory. She'd assumed then that she'd have time for everything, that time would move slowly enough that she would never have to worry about it being too late to return to school by the time she got around to it.

But two years had passed. Two wonderful, fluid years that had her all over the country and world, living only under a single-digit set of Carson's rules as far as he chose to push the fact that she was living on his money, solving cases for free. She supposed she'd always known she'd have to give it up at some point, but she chose to ignore it amidst the swarm of headlines reading "Wunderkind," "Girl Detective," "Super Sleuth," figuring that those good deeds would perpetually justify more good deeds.

Nancy knew how lucky she was. She knew she was happier now than a lot of people would ever be.

But it would still be a loss when she had to stop. Moving on from anything that rich would be difficult.

Time passed quickly with Nancy wrapped in her thoughts. Dusk arrived sooner than she had anticipated. As soon as Beltrán called time and he and José walked off to talk, Nancy hopped out of the pit and moved toward Dylan before he joined them. She couldn't warn him, not yet, but she could hint at the rift between Beltrán and José and suggest approaches.

The diggers dwindled off to help with the tents. All except Sonny, who was on the phone.

"Dylan—" she began.

Dylan raised a hand and walked in the opposite direction.

"It's me," Nancy said in surprise, thinking at first he had misidentified her.

He continued away, leaving her rooted to her spot with her mouth slightly agape.

Red flags rose in her mind. This was very odd—possibly suspicious—behavior. Dylan was distancing himself, talking to everyone except everybody on his team.

Was he giving in to temptation? Throwing his lot in with Beltrán and José for money?

But why would José be suspicious?

Questions filled her mind again, taking over her head and creating a haze. Now she was locked in. She needed to find out. The bowl, with its strange symbols, the illegal sales. She'd gambled by coming out here. Now she had to stay for the outcome.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn't often that Nancy felt like fighting. Admittedly she had a temper, but most days she found herself able to tie it down. She was no longer the irascible girl she'd been when she was sixteen. Her father had taught her early on to control the rage in response to injustices long enough to think through how to right them. But things at the site had quickly gotten confusing. Nobody's allegiances were completely clear. Well, Lou's was. He considered himself his own ally. At least Nancy knew where he stood—he didn't want to be here at all. But she didn't know why Holly, Richard, and Alex wanted to be here. She didn't have time to talk to them to find out. Sonny barely seemed to care about the black market's presence here. He had his own agenda, and he didn't even know what it was. Or at least, he didn't seem to. That irritated her.

But at the top of her mind was Dylan. His vagarious loyalties were more than irritating. They were disconcerting. Nancy knew people could change, but for some reason she could only barely bring herself to give him the benefit of the doubt.

All of these contributed to her current bad mood.

She kept at it, though. Maybe she could figure out Dylan's behavior yet. Carson also taught her not to jump to conclusions. That got in the way of finding the truth. So maybe she was wrong about Dylan.

Maybe he was talking to others on Henrik's team and she hadn't noticed.

Not that she thought that was the case, but it didn't hurt to exhaust all the possibilities.

She turned to look for a familiar head of orange hair to consult, only to find that Sonny didn't appear to be around. Frowning, she walked toward the hill that hid the vehicles.

Then she saw him. Or rather, a tuft of orange, dark with the darkening light, among the grass and moving with the breeze. It rose at the sound of her footsteps.

"Nancy." Sonny broke into a small, closed lip smile. His eyelids drooped and were slow to blink.

As she approached she saw that he had been lying face-down. Apparently she had interrupted his nap.

"You look tired," she said, speaking her observations aloud.

"Just waiting for the tents to go up." He pushed himself up with his elbows and sat back on his ankles. "What's going on?"

"They're putting up the tents." Nancy sat down in front of him. "You could help, you know."

"I could," he said.

Nancy waited for him to continue this thought. When he didn't, she spoke. "Has Dylan been talking to you?"

"Huh?" Sonny's brow wrinkled in confusion. "No. Why? Is that important?"

"Could be." Nancy watched the tents rise. The workers were all on the other side, making it look that the fabric rose by itself. "He didn't really want to talk to me just now. He's not talking to anybody else we came with, either. It's almost like he's trying to… distance himself. Be careful around him."

"Do you always assume the worst when you see things?"

"Prepare for. I prepare for the worst."

"Maybe you should chill out," Sonny yawned. "He probably just had a bad day."

Her teeth jammed together. She knew she'd say that. She could tell herself she didn't feel like fighting today. But it'd be a lie. There was still so much unsaid about everything. "I came here to do a job." She stared at him. "It's my job to notice these things."

"No. It's your job to help me find evidence that this place is significant," he replied, unaffected.

Nancy bristled. "It's my job to look for evidence of illegal sales since in your case I'm still not convinced I'm looking for anything."

This seemed to hit the mark. His lips pulled inward. His eyes narrowed. "This? Still?"

"Look. We've established that you tend not to pay attention to the people you enlist to help. You hire them and then leave them to their own devices. You don't see if they're in trouble. You don't see if they're turning away and helping the people we're supposed to be investigating. That puts everybody in danger." Nancy said coolly. It had to be said, she told herself. It was ugly, but it had to be said.

He sat up. "I don't investigate people. I investigate places. And maybe, just maybe, people don't need to be babysat. Dylan knew what he was getting into."

"I thought Jamila talked to you about putting other people in danger."

"She did. And now I'm informing the people of danger beforehand. Not just dragging them out here, since you all seemed to hate that." He raised his hands in the air, spreading them outward to denote a headline. "Giant, bright disclaimer with neon letters and five exclamation points."

"But how is that enough?" Nancy's voice rose over his, "when you're looking for something that isn't real? How is that worth putting people's lives in danger? How can you justify it for eyegoggles?"

"That's why," he began deliberately, "I tell them about risks and let them decide. It's not on me to justify it anymore."

"But he didn't know about the alien stuff. Isn't that right?"

"I don't know what Jamila told him."

Nancy crossed her arms. "Maybe you should know."

"Why is this a problem? We're not killing people or drowning puppies. One of the side effects is making everybody see what's happening here. Illegal sales. Isn't that right up your alley?"

"But you couldn't care less about that, could you?"

He looked at her as if she had three heads. "Of course I do!" he protested.

"Then why don't you look into those?"

"Because they have people for those. Like you. That's not my area of expertise."

"Fine. You look into the place," Nancy spat, "while I clean up your mess by seeing no one gets hurt."

His eyebrows rose incredulously. "Mess?" he scoffed, sweeping his arm outward. "Does this look like a mess?"

Looking out at the sky, Nancy agreed it was beautiful. "But you're not deceived by appearances," she pointed out. "You have to know there's something behind all this."

"Right now, there isn't. It's just you, me, and the sun setting."

She shook her head. "You don't get it. You know what this looks like? Does the world ever look like aliens were here?"

"To me it does."

"To most people it doesn't. But you don't listen to most people, do you? You don't buy into appearances." She paused. "It's my job to catch everything behind that. I see the parts."

"I see the whole," Sonny said quietly, meeting her eyes.

Silence.

"Do you maybe want to work with me again after this?"

"I'd have to think about it," she replied before she could agree.

"Take your time," he said at the same time.

She chuckled, dispelling the awkwardness. "I will."

Nancy looked at her knees while Sonny's gaze went to the sunset.

"About Dylan," Sonny leaned his head to the side and rubbed his ear against his shoulder, "what were you saying about him?"

"He's distancing himself. Right now I have no idea why."

"Well, I hope it's just a bad day."

"So do I."

Nancy's hands fidgeted in her lap. She didn't know how to broach the next topic. "José talked to me earlier," she began finally.

"I saw that he did. Everything all right?"

"At first I thought he suspected me of something. He'd always be staring at me like he didn't trust me."

"Do you think we're still safe here?"

"Yeah," she laughed shortly, "actually. Turns out he wanted my help. He was just figuring out whether he could trust me."

"And of course he can completely trust you," Sonny quipped.

"Of course." Nancy deadpanned. "And everything does seem to be going perfectly here. Except for one thing."

Sonny said nothing, but he looked impatient, like his life hinged on these types of cliffhangers.

She took pity on him and continued. "They suspect Dylan. José does, at least. He actually wants me to work against him, find proof that he isn't to be trusted."

"Oh," he replied. "Well it's lucky they got you for it, then."

Nancy became puzzled. "Why lucky?"

"Because you can look out for him. Hide everything from José."

"But José is going to expect me to give him something. I can't just say, 'Oh, by the way, Dylan's a stand-up guy. See you later.'"

"Then be careful. Keep saying you need more time."

"I'll do what I can, but I'm sure that José will be keeping an eye out, too. If he sees Dylan doing something suspicious, I can't really deny it without him seeing that I'm trying to cover for him. I can't give too much conflicting information."

"What's your approach going to be?"

"Right now, I don't know. But I don't think we have much time left here. I can find a way to stall for a little bit. The only one they don't trust is Dylan. And I can't make them trust Dylan. Dylan has to do that himself." She paused thoughtfully. "I don't know if I trust him, either. And José won't just let go of that anyway. I think we have to hurry."

"Feeling the time crunch, huh?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah, although it's disappointing." Sonny's voice lowered. "I know a little bit about Mayan glyphs, and I brushed up more on it before leaving. Also I brought a book or two. If we find anything with text, I think I'm prepared."

"And if we don't find anything?" Nancy asked, surprising herself when she felt a pang at the thought.

"We leave. If we didn't find anything, it isn't the right time." Sonny picked at some dirt with his hand and shrugged. "But I think it is the right time."

"Okay," said Nancy.

He looked at her. "Do you have any more theories for the symbol on the bowl?"

"Working on it."

"Yeah, well, try not to lose sleep over it. You seem like the type."

She smiled at her knees. "I won't."

For what seemed like hours they sat in front of the sky, not thinking about anything, not even each other. But the sun sank slowly, dragging time across its eyelid. Nancy's mind was peacefully blank before a realization burst forth. Why she so badly wanted to find something here. Sheepishly she smiled and laughed a little, turning away and catching a few stray hairs in front of her eyes. "I need to know what's going on. Just like every other case. I was waiting for it to set in."

"Hmmm." Sonny jerked his head toward her. "You need to know what's going on?"

"Yeah," she admitted with another chuckle.

"Do you?"

"Yes." She replied hesitantly. Where was this going?

"How did the pyramids get built?"

"I don't know."

"Do you need to know?"

Her eyes flashed. "Yes."

"You've gone twenty years without knowing."

"Enough!" She groaned. "It's just something I've been thinking about lately."

"We're not going to find all of the answers here. Just some of them. And something I think is an answer probably won't be an answer for you. Let's be honest."

"So?" Nancy asked.

"So," Sonny inflected, tilting his head, "we're not going to find everything here. All we need's about two thirds. That's what it was last time."

"With the beacon?"

"With the beacon."

Nancy thought back to Pacific Run. It was a little hazy in her mind, swirled around memories of a breakup, a letter home she'd written in full denial—she turned her head farther away—a conversation, a kiss.

"Did you think about the beacon? What lay behind that?"

"I-" Nancy tried to remember late nights after getting back, tossing and turning on two pillows and an idea. Nothing came to her. She'd actually slept well after that case. Yes, she squinted upward, now that he mentioned it, she had once said she almost wanted to know where the stories ended. But after that she must have forgotten, had never turned to wanting. "No," she said in astonishment. She turned to him. "No, I didn't."

He bit his lip and stared down at the grass, looking pleased for some reason Nancy couldn't quite put her finger on. "I've thought about what you said that first night," he said to a blade of grass. "I thought about what you said in River Heights when I came to ask for your help, and I thought about what you told me last week."

Nancy didn't know what he was alluding to, and she was beginning to feel sorry she had ever opened her mouth around him at all.

"You're not the girl who finds all the answers, but you want them all," he remembered pensively, curving forward with his head bowed. There was some solemnity to the gesture that made Nancy uncomfortable in relation to the introspective conversation topic. "You tried turning down a case. You've never turned down a case."

She sighed. "And where should I suppose you're going with this?"

"No clue." Sonny shrugged. "I don't know where I'm going with it."

Nancy rolled her eyes.

"Wait." He straightened. "I know where I was going with it."

"I came to the same conclusion and if it's all the same to you I'd rather not hear it twice in one day," she cut across.

"Fair enough, I guess, Nancy. Just be careful."

She rose. "In order to be careful, I've got to go."

"Tell me when you've got a theory on that bowl, all right?"

"Will do." She started to walk off to the tent.

Then stopped.

She still had to broach a final subject. About what José thought her intentions were with these conversations with Sonny. The one she was dreading. "Oh," she added, "and now he thinks we're spending so much time together because I'm interested in you."

At this Sonny nodded slowly. His mind was elsewhere, she noted. "And he wants you to spy on Dylan. Cover him as best as you can. I'll work on the artifacts."

"We don't have any with text yet," Nancy reminded.

"I know. But I can try and think back to other artifacts that have been found and look for connections. We'll find what we need in time." Sonny craned his neck backward at her. "Keep me updated about Dylan, too. Look for how much they trust him."

Nancy laughed. "If you're worried about what Jamila told you, I doubt she's all that concerned over Dylan getting killed."

After a few seconds he joined in halfheartedly, filling the air with soft, airy chuckles. "That's not going to happen."

"Good." She continued walking. "You can go back to your nap now."

"Nah." Sonny rocked forward onto his knees and stood. "Think I'll go back too." He caught up with her, and they continued talking about everything unrelated to the case just as stars started filling the sky.


	11. Chapter 11

Sonny took a bite of his lettuce and tomato sandwich and unwrapped a Koko Kringle bar, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the new find. He tipped his chin upward, hoping he could see through his frames without having to push them back up on the bridge of his nose. Too much effort. With all of the sweat, they'd only slide down again anyway.

There'd been several finds over the past few days. One of them had been discovered by Rafael, one of Sonny's "pit partners" as he referred to them. Coming up with names for things was so much easier than digging. But anyway, he'd gotten a good long first glance at Rafael's pottery shard.

The whole vase or whatever it was never turned up, but hey, it was progress.

He swallowed the last of the sandwich and bit off half of the chocolate, trying not to think about how this wasn't going as quickly as planned. Then again, nothing ever went as quickly as planned. Sonny always went into these things seeing the end and only the end. Everything else was just sort of a hassle. If he had his way, he'd be back at the International Space Station by now.

He forced himself to focus, not on that ultimate end, but on this smaller particular goal. It was as vague as all of the rest of them were, just looking for some clue in what had to be the right place.

The days started crashing together in the toil, looking more and more the same without the excitement of discoveries.

Everybody else was over there, eating their lunches. Sonny was here, right in the heart of the site. Why would they ever want to leave? They could do that when they picked up and left to go to the next site.

Even though this was the perpetual site, where things kept turning up.

Yeah, on second thought, he couldn't stay here for seventy-five years straight. He had things to do.

And was it finally slowing down? Was that part of the sign that something was going to happen here?

He hoped it wasn't the only sign; that was for sure.

This last find had to be something magnificent, something extraordinary…

He still needed to have that conversation with Grandpa Jin, the one Jin had promised that they'd have in person. That was something Sonny had forgotten about, if he was honest with himself. The truth would be nice, but Sonny had solidified his own defined set of beliefs from what Jin said. And really, he already knew most of what Jin would say. On the plane here, Nancy told him that people unwittingly revealed secrets to the ones they loved, even through something as subtle as body language or the temptation towards honestly, for the loved ones to know them. It was something she couldn't have learned except from experience. But even though he had never heard it put that way—or put any way at all, if he was being honest—he knew. He felt it many, many times over the years. Grandpa Jin was always more thorough when he presented the beliefs as stories, and Sonny could almost hear Jin reassuring himself that a ten-year-old boy wouldn't be able to recognize that he was being told the bare truth, that it was safe to tell him everything. Grandpa Jin had always looked young, but he'd always looked even younger when he was talking about those, pouring story after story over his head as if he couldn't stop himself from telling him.

Later on, after Sonny followed the comics and saw they were true, he returned to Jin only to find the stories were changed. Lies. They weren't easy lies, either, since he looked older telling them rather than younger, like he used to. Sonny could see that it pained him, and so he forgave him for it. If he was sorry for lying and still kept doing it, there had to be a reason why he lied.

Sonny wished he could remember the stories. But the fact that he heard most of them amidst solid, rolling pain in bed at home or the ICU or on the way to one or the other, plus his poor attention span, left him very little. During those nights when he wasn't tired at all because he spent all his time in bed, or when the aches became too distracting, he used those stories as a foundation for higher imaginative fantasy world activity. Most of those stories involved being eaten by a space ship and gliding off to other planets, Pluto and beyond.

And it was those that framed his understanding of death, if it came.

Once he came particularly close. And as he'd lain there, he'd asked Grandpa Jin, "What is this?"

He'd stayed silent, although his eyes shone more than they normally did, and not in a happy way.

Sonny did not understand. He knew what would happen, based on the maelstrom of stories in his head. "They're going to take me with them, aren't they?" It was a good thing. Why was Grandpa sad?

Grandpa Jin still didn't say anything then, but he nodded and smiled tightly, leaning forward and gripping his wrist.

Later, when he came out of it, his mother had explained to him that if he left, he could never come back. It seemed safe to talk about it then, now that it was distant enough that the idea of death couldn't hurt him anymore.

That was right before she made Grandpa go away.

A few weeks later, she stopped admitting that the spaceship was real, but she wouldn't say what would happen instead.

Not that she needed to.

He didn't know if he still believed it, the postmortem transgalactic journey, but he thought it would be every bit as nice as what everybody else thought happened after death. Before he returned to the stories, he'd never felt so… found. Not that he was lost for the years he thought they were just stories, since there really was no way to know what was missing if he had no idea anything was missing at all. But something had clicked into place the day he matched a location to one of his old comics. Life transformed from a shade of child pastels to darker colors. The solid bolds in comic books. It became richer. It made more sense.

All of that were things Jin had given him through some felt connection, some feeling that he'd understand, some desire for him to understand. He loved him. He revealed his secrets.

And so, when Nancy told him that loved ones gave away their secrets, he understood. And he knew which experience it was for her, too. It was the case she had just gotten off of before New Zealand, the one she was still upset about that night they talked. The one in Scotland, when she found out about her mom.

And even Nancy had revealed something then, just by telling him that. He smiled to himself.

Sonny peered out to the others sitting together at the foot of the hill, eating and chatting. Even at midday, they all looked really, really tired. He himself felt slightly dizzy a lot of the time, which he blamed on the lack of protein. Unlucky for him, lettuce and tomatoes just didn't cut it. His mother had pestered him to bring seitan strips for the trip, but he forgot. The near-total lack of options was a little troublesome. Still, the option of eating the ham and turkey sandwiches they offered never occurred to him.

Smearing away a bead of sweat before it could slide down his nose, he thought to himself that the heat wasn't really helping, either.

Nobody wanted to get back to work. A few actually seemed even less motivated than he did, Sonny noticed, impressed. A novel feat. Eventually they started moving, so far off that he couldn't hear anything they said as they shuffled back to the site. The sound came later with their footsteps and a few lively remnants of conversation.

Even old Rosie seemed not to want to deal with the dirt with the way he growled and showed his bottom teeth.

Maybe he'd let them all off early today.

Maybe if he got enough of the slackers to go on strike…

A clang sounded from one of the farther pits.

That jolted him out of his current plans. Much like last time, Sonny didn't remember what got him running, only that he was running as fast as he could. He was there before anyone else was, staring so hard at a small triangular stone that it was like he was looking through it.

After he blinked everyone else was there, murmuring and elbowing. At least, it seemed like everyone else. Most of the diggers weren't interested except one or two, but Henrik's team was there and pumped.

Sonny raised a hand to his head, blocking the sun out as he peered between his middle and index fingers. "There are pictures on it!" he shouted gleefully.

Everyone looked up for a second to stare at him.

Nancy's eyes widened and hardened across the circle from him. She raised then lowered her hand, telling him to keep it down.

José, standing next to her, smirked. Just as Sonny was about to postulate why he remembered the find and returned his attention to it. It looked like the corner of what had once been a stone tablet. There was a set of glyphs followed by a round object that resembled a helmet. And stone predated the Mayans—primarily Olmec—he remembered excitedly. Mayans mainly wrote on paper except for the really big things but judging by the size of the glyphs this one looked smaller, maybe the size of a textbook. His mind returned from the ancient civilizations it had already begun to sink into and he refocused on the discovery, trying to read the pictographs.

They looked like Greek.

Dismayed, Sonny began to wonder why he'd even read Henrik's book before remembering that one of the guys they'd come with—the Norwegian—was a Mayan scholar.

"Psst. Alexander." He looked to his left, which was where he remembered seeing him last.

Lucky for Sonny, he was there.

Out of excitement, Sonny elbowed him a little harder than he meant to. "What's that say?" he asked eagerly.

"Uh," Alexander leaned forward, rubbing his side, while Nancy simultaneously threw him several gestures probably meant to demand more subtlety. He ignored her and stared at the side of Alexander's head as he worked through the glyphs, muttering silently to himself. During this, Sonny looked up and locked eyes with Nancy. Despite the visible frustration with his conspicuousness, she looked as intensely curious as he felt.

"Who cares what it says?" Jose crossed his arms and scowled at Sonny. "It sells. That's all that matters."

Next to him Nancy was mouthing, "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up," as if she had no faith in him to refrain from contesting this.

As if he was stupid enough to do something like that. Sonny considered opening his mouth and making like he would just to spite her. Boy, would that get a rise out of her.

But before he could do anything along those lines the artifact was being handed to Beltran, who pocketed it. No cloth or anything. Just put it right in his pocket.

Odd.

"Back to work," Jose said. He and Beltrán retreated to discuss the value of the new find. Many looked on in envy. They could only talk when they were done with grunt work for the day. Another incentive for finding things. For them, at least.

The others dispersed. As Alexander started to follow them, Sonny tugged on his arm. He didn't say anything, just looked. They could talk about the find after work.

That is, they could talk about it _if_ Alexander got a translation.

Alexander surveyed him blankly, all the muscles in his face taut. "What is your interest in it?"

Oh. Lying. Right.

"Show and tell," Sonny replied blithely.

"Right." Alexander's jaw tightened further. "Show and tell."

"I don't get many opportunities like this," Sonny whined. "Do you know how many sites I've gotten thrown out of?"

"So you're excited."

"Yep." He left it at that.

"It's good to be excited." Alexander turned his head to the side and looked up at Beltrán and José talking atop their hill. "Sometimes."

Nancy jogged up to him as soon as Alexander walked off. Even in the heat she moved lithely, as if it barely fazed her. "Wouldn't it be ironic if you were the one who got us all killed?" she asked sardonically, already back to her cool-under-pressure rational self.

Sonny's eyes darted upward as he considered this. "It would," he agreed. "But that's a one-tenth percent chance."

"Is it?"

"You don't have to worry about me, Nancy," he replied. "Or yourself, for that matter. We've got this under control."

Her eyebrows rose. "Right."

Rolling his eyes, Sonny sighed and lifted his head upward. He took a few steps toward her. "You have been told that people can't negotiate with insanity, right?"

"Yeah." Nancy remembered all too clearly. Deirdre had told her that.

Another irony.

"Well, people see me," Sonny slapped a hand on his chest, "as casually insane. You should know. You do, too."

"No, I don't," Nancy replied, in a tone as if to assure him.

"Oh?" He asked, actually a little surprised. "Well, that's breaking news then."

Nancy scoffed. "I'd hardly call it breaking-"

"Sunspot!" bellowed José.

"This is great." Sonny threw both of his hands in front of him, palms up. "You're great. But I have to go."

"You mean, you're actually going to do work?"

"Enjoy it!" he grinned back at her as he walked briskly away. "Only happens once every blue moon. Like the eclipse."

Nancy tried very hard not to laugh and draw attention to them. Realizing that she had been standing there for some time, she began walking back to where Lou was already digging.

Suddenly she stopped, realizing that one person had been absent from the throng.

Dylan.

She whirled around with the hunch that he had been behind her. Otherwise she would have seen him.

Indeed, there he was, in the distance, still standing in the pit where the stone fragment was discovered. Dark circles swallowed the skin under his eyes. There were wrinkles on his forehead that she had never seen before. He looked somehow smaller than he usually did. It must have been the stress, Nancy surmised. He hadn't been doing much digging lately. And the way he looked into the dirt at the bottom of the pit made her think that he was thinking very hard about something, perhaps a decision.

Without warning he jolted out of his thoughts and looked up, seeing her watching him.

Nancy didn't look down right away. He'd been acting so strange lately. Maybe there was something he couldn't say.

But he cut off any communication they had by turning and walking up the hill to stand with José and Beltrán.

Slowly she started walking again, forcing her mind to another matter. The new find reminded her that she still needed theories about the first one, the wooden bowl. Dylan's strange behavior could be pushed to another time of musing.

Her eyes widened in sudden realization. "Clock hands."

Three lines ran on the bowl. One each for hours, minutes, seconds.

Yes, it was anachronistic. Yes, the Mayans used a different means to record time. It was… the sundial, right?

And in any case, Sonny would probably buy it. This went right up his alley, fit in perfectly with the theory that Mayans were way ahead technologically than they were supposed to be.

Sonny would say that aliens taught them about clocks.

Nancy would think that maybe they had found a way to predict future technology. To design it, even, like Da Vinci did with the flying machine.

It wasn't likely, she admitted to herself. Probably the lines meant something else, something more in line with the time from which they came. Still, Sonny would be pleased.

So far that seemed the most plausible of all of her theories, which meant at least she was getting closer even if she hadn't hit the nail on the head yet.

Progress.

A new spring entered her step on the way back to her shovel.

Sonny noticed this with a gleam in his eye. She knows something, he thought.

Working became even harder for him than usual. Impatiently he waited for the sky to darken, not because that would mark the end of the work day but because it would become easier to be swallowed by a spaceship and pressed up against a window, looking at the starry sky from the interior. And they'd lift off the ground in a fiery blast, leaving behind a safe habitat for animals and a smiling human race, and he'd feel the presence of long-lost Mayans behind him who somehow already know who he is—not his name and the other small stuff, but _who he is_ , every thing he places at the center of his life and works by. And it's not really as cliché as it seems because the actual experience doesn't fit into a mold, but still it's everything he expected, here among his ancestors. They whisper in his ear, giving him the privilege of hearing the next lesson the moment before they impart it on everyone. After all, he is one of them.

Yeah, maybe he'd have to die for it to actually happen. Yeah, maybe it would actually never happen. But never didn't really exist in a hypothetical world.

When Sonny was little, he thought belief was a choice. But it kept getting harder as he got older, even after he'd discovered the real-life location of one of the comics. After the honeymoon phase of finding it, he'd sunk back a little and started asking questions about it. And it was a lot harder than a choice.

He could still choose to want it, though, even if he wasn't sure he fully believed it.

Sonny drew his shovel up to his chest so it stood vertically and leaned on it, laying his head down on his arms crossed over the handle. Yes, it would have been nice if he was there already, or at all, or one step closer to knowing whether it was possible.

Although, he looked over at Nancy and felt himself grinning, maybe the wait wasn't all bad.

He had trouble figuring most people out, but most people were boring. They weren't really worth the effort.

Nancy was.

Ever since he'd come across her name in Prudence Rutherford's memoir, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head. She was like the badass heroine in some story of a book he'd never read. And it had been so long for both of them, so many glimpses, so many references, that he just knew it would have been such a waste to part ways after their short time together at Pacific Run. Besides, he hoped they still had more to say to each other. With her, it never ended. Always interested in new things, new angles. Always needing to repaint the backdrop by bouncing to a different location, never staying in the same place for long. Constant change and growth. Cleaning the world ground-up, section by section, bringing injustice to light and finding the truth in every corner and continent. A perfect blend of familiarity and enigma.

A challenge to keep up with.

A challenge accepted.


	12. Chapter 12

After cornering Alexander at the end of the day, Sonny learned that he had been able to translate the series of glyphs on the stone tablet piece. "...on the second midday sun." The helmet that followed didn't make much sense.

Then again, what would the Mayans be doing with a helmet?

Nancy wished she herself had gotten a better look. Maybe to Sonny it looked like a helmet. That didn't mean it was one, especially taking into consideration his biases.

Sonny's "helmet" had basically been an outline, a shape, as most helmets were. It couldn't have been too fancy. Minute detail could not be hammered into stone in a picture that small. And it had been small, he admitted, about the width of two fingers. From what Nancy saw, the whole piece was about the size of her foot. There just wasn't room for much.

She took out her notebook and sketched in the circular shape, then glanced at it all sorts of ways.

It could have been all sorts of things, she concluded. There was so little in the outline that it could pretty much be universally applied. It didn't have to be a helmet.

As to what it _did_ have to be, she resolved to go back and work on later. Right now she had a headache.

The glyphs were small, too, leading her to believe that the whole stone tablet would also have been small, as though the scribe had tried to find room to write without a lot of space.

Either that or the stone tablet had been huge, housing a continued or elaborate account of something.

That would have been significant.

Chewing on the eraser of her pencil, Nancy wondered how important the text on the stone fragment was. If she knew the size of the original tablet, that would give an indication.

She switched to another tactic, examining the words themselves. "On the second midday sun" sounded formal, almost out of place. Was this an official document? Or was it a scribe's individual account of an experience?

Nancy traced the pencil lightly over where she had written "on the second midday sun" in her notebook. What happened on the second midday sun?

Sonny thought it might have referred to the day the Mayans disappeared. Not that we knew the day the Mayans disappeared, he'd added quickly, but it had to start at some point, on some day. He'd thought that this site was different because it was older, he'd admitted. But maybe, instead, it was newer.

"What about all the evidence showing it was older?" Nancy had asked him.

"Indefinite. I told you that carbon dating's pretty iffy." Sonny had paused. "But I'm still going with it. Right now, the 'newer' thing is just a guess."

After remembering that, Nancy went back to her clock hands theory.

Still anachronistic, she thought. But it fit in with the time theme, the second sun and all that.

They still needed more. Nancy knew that. Whatever it was they were looking for left so few clues that even Sonny couldn't fill in the blanks.

And at this point, Sonny had to have some idea of what it was they were looking for. She'd ask him. She rolled her eyes upward. Again, that is.

* * *

"What is it this time?"

Jane grimaced up at her father. "Really, Dad, I'm not stopping _that_ often."

"Maybe it isn't to you," Hugh said tiredly. He drew a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped his forehead with it. "We've been here for a few hours without a break, and I want to get off my feet."

She made a different face, still expressing her displeasure. "You've been off your feet the whole plane ride!"

"Can't I rest?"

Her eyes widened. "Why do you want to rest?" She stared in awe at a street vendor selling some type of trinket. "You're in a new place every minute!"

"Yes, I'm afraid one gets used to it."

"You're not used," she complained. "You're taking it for granted."

"I'm afraid I am," Hugh replied apathetically. "I'm not in a mood to quarrel right now, Jane. We're going to the hotel."

" _Oh_ ," Jane drew out the word exasperatedly. "You're just trying to make it _boring_."

"I'm just trying to rest up so tomorrow I won't be boring after the meeting." Hugh tried to smile. Not being exhausted after a day of meetings was exhausting to think about. Still, he'd promised two years ago that he'd keep an eye on his daughter, take more of an interest in her life. He never dreamed that this would involve _her_ taking an interest in _his_ life, but according to all of his friends he should have. Apparently travel was exciting once upon a time. When that time might have been, Hugh didn't recall, but he guessed it might've been at Hastings. Either way, he didn't have much of an imagination for these things.

"Really? We'll go to visit the ruins like I asked?"

"Yes."

Jane grinned. Her father had promised to take her to Chichen Itza if he wasn't too tired after doing his job for the day and if she didn't pester him too much. What she'd just said didn't really count as pestering since Hugh had established a rule that anything irate or hurtful he said in the state of jetlag could not be counted against him. Well of course the rule applied to her too, and they'd only been off the plane for a few hours. And during the day she had Mérida all to herself.

Well, she was _supposed_ to stay in the hotel, but this place had a pretty low crime rate. Besides, she wouldn't go far. And what was travel if she had to have a chaperone all the time? She needed her own adventures, especially since they'd be leaving Mérida soon to go to some of the outlying areas that were breaking the rules. Jane was sort of looking forward to that, she supposed, but she always liked cities. Cities had a lot, and they gave her more inspiration for creating new games than desolate areas did. So she meant to spend as much time here as possible, do what she wanted to do, then follow her father to the places he actually needed to go. During that time she could start drafting the games she'd hopefully come up with ideas for while she was here.

If all went according to plan.

* * *

Lou never thought he'd be out here this long. He could've found enough bones to rebuild eighty dinosaur skeletal structures in the time he spent digging up all this Mayan stuff.

That might've been an exaggeration, but it wasn't much of one.

What would he do after this? Was he really going to go out to the underwater half of the Chicxulub crater? Granted, he was from California and knew how to scuba dive. Not having the means wasn't the problem. Nor was not having the will, necessarily. Maybe it was that he didn't have the practical means. He'd probably have to buy a boat in order to scuba dive, and he really didn't have enough money for that.

If he could get his hands on more dinosaur bones to sell and not have to worry about the bullshit of splitting the profits, maybe he'd have something.

But right now, he had _nada_.

Yeah, this dig gig paid, but he figured he couldn't touch that money. Whatever they were doing probably wasn't legal, especially since the pay was higher than what he'd gotten for standard gig. He didn't think he'd be a millionaire on a yacht after jobs like this, but this time he might as well have been working for free. Crying shame, too, given the amount. At least with those other jobs he could still afford to support himself.

Here it was like the team leaders wanted everyone crawling back to them. They didn't trust anybody on their site, so instead they made themselves feared. And while Machiavelli was definitely a good tactic to go, Lou had never really cared for the Artist of War himself. Dude needed to chill out.

Lou sighed and rubbed his fingers over his eyes to the bridge of his nose. At the end of the day he couldn't ever get any sleep because he was so used to going out and digging on his own time. Couldn't do that here. These guys didn't let anyone leave the dig site ever unless they were supervised. Because of that Lou couldn't help but wonder who exactly these people were. Henrik really sold him down the river this time.

He really hated to say it, since he liked Henrik. Henrik didn't judge him for having real people problems like having to sell things that maybe really didn't belong to him. Sure, he talked all fancy like a doctor or professor, but he'd graduated a year late from a university no one had ever heard of. And because somehow Lou knew that Henrik hadn't slacked off and had to repeat a year, that meant that he'd started a year late. And starting a year late meant taking a year off between high school and college. Lou knew what that infamous year off meant. Every time that happened it was because a potential student was working for his tuition. Not that Henrik had needed that money. He was so careful that he saved up before applying. And he'd probably gotten a free ride, being a genius.

And Lou knew that nobody on the level had the contacts Henrik did, way out in the middle of nowhere. Everybody always wondered how someone so legit could get the word on the street.

But Lou knew.

Henrik had to be smuggling at one point. Probably to get himself that doctorate or build up a research fund.

He and Henrik weren't all that different. Which was maybe why Henrik took a shine to him when they'd met at Stanford. Lou had visited a friend there, and Henrik had been a visiting professor. Maybe Henrik was better at selling things illegally than he was—as in, Henrik had never gotten caught—but Lou wasn't really the jealous, catty type. Especially when said superior had given him some pretty solid advice on how to get enough money to keep doing what he wanted to do.

Still, no matter how cool the guy was, he sold him up the river here. By the time he got done at good old Usrique, Lou wouldn't know how long he'd been waylaid. He'd stopped counting the days.

Not to mention that Nancy's being here was still bothering him. He thought and thought and thought about it, but every time he came up blank.

What did white wolves and Mayans have in common?

* * *

Dylan was finally included. Fairly completely, unless there was a further included than this.

And he really didn't want to know if there was.

Beltrán had him going out and finding potential buyers and then acting as the middleman to help arrange sales. That was the extent to which he understood what was going on.

Getting proof would be more difficult than that. Most of the commerce was done through word of mouth, especially in the earlier stages. Later on the paperwork came out, the receipts, the falsified provenance records.

If he could show the process of making the provenance records to prove they were falsified, well, then that would be the best way to go about it. Most ironclad. Then he'd finally be able to get out of here and start living his life again.

He chuckled to himself. What life?

Ever since giving up his second source of income—which involved similar activities, ironically—he'd been going under. So far he'd found a way to live on scraps and make ends meet, but he couldn't do that forever.

And if he couldn't be a guide anymore…

He made himself stop. No use crossing that bridge until he came to it. Especially since José still didn't trust him. He'd have to do damage control on that front first, worry about Mexico before worrying about getting out of Mexico, and the rest came after that.

He took the list of buyers from his pocket and looked at it. He had to go into town, Tekax and some other places, and make contact with these people and stir up a fever and then a bidding war. Just a little bit of the infectious charm would aid him on that front, hopefully. Sure, it wasn't the best use of his people skills, but it was for a good cause.

Still, doing it gave him a bit of an ill feeling when he thought of the previous conversations he'd had with Jamila and Nancy and the like. He wasn't used to people not liking him. It bruised him when people didn't like him. Not that José character, who was a definite grouch, but pretty much everyone else.

With this in mind, he put the list back up in his pocket and stared at the automobile door in front of him. A moment later, he reached out and pulled the handle.

One of his digger companions, Manuel, walked around to the front seat. He didn't talk a lot, but he seemed like a sturdy fellow. José still didn't trust Dylan to drive alone without absconding with the car, and Beltrán had actually deferred to him on that matter.

Dylan looked back over his shoulder to the busy site. Probably a wise choice.

Not that he'd steal the car without finding help first.

* * *

At the end of the day Nancy found herself as exhausted as she usually did. But it was somehow worse this time. Normally, the type of exhaustion she got from extended manual labor would put her right to sleep. This exhaustion would keep her up. The curious exhaustion. The "what-in-the-hell-is-going-on" exhaustion. So Nancy marched up to Sonny and, skipping past the smiles and greetings, asked, "What are you looking for? What are you really looking for?"

"I imagine it's a special location," he said, eyes drifting far away. He hadn't smiled even a little, as if he knew that she'd want to get straight to business tonight. "Maybe an account that changes things. An account of their contact with the teachers. Something wrapped up neatly in a little stone tablet."

"That you won't be able to read?" she asked knowingly.

"Yeaaahhhh," he dragged out the word, "I'll leave that to Alexander."

She scrutinized him. "You're sure it's here?"

"Yes, Nancy, I'm sure."

For the first time that day she noticed how close they were, her falling in step next to him as if that was life's plan, standing close enough to see the individual strands of his hair. She had even started working closer to him, hopping pit to pit away from Lou. As if tomorrow she could jump into his, beam, say "Here I am!" and watch him spin around with than unending energy of his and then look pleasantly surprised.

Or unpleasantly surprised.

Nancy didn't plan on any of this happening. She'd only wanted to take a hiatus, and look where that got her.

Time for some more personal clarifications.

She took a deep breath. "When you said…"

"Yes?" Sonny asked eagerly.

An air of something swirled around them, and for the first time, Nancy thought she was seeing what Sonny saw every day, the world a few shades hazier, but also happier, more cheerful looking. And it was only taken a shade back, to appreciate significance and preserve happiness. There was still depth in this world, possibly an even greater depth due to the mysteries it held, the things no one knew. No ignorance. Just a step back, that tiny step back that crossed the brighter threshold of happiness in-between.

And maybe, if she could appreciate the more colorful explanations of life, she wanted to. Only to expand her understanding.

She continued to look at Sonny.

Only that, she reminded herself.

But the problem was, it wasn't only that. Here she was, with him, and she felt like she had the wind knocked out of her.

Again.

She had to get away.

She muttered some excuse as she jumped up and walked stiffly out.

It was still too soon.

Way, way too soon.

She'd thought she was done dealing with feelings for a long time. She still had to be professional.

She shouldn't be kissing again.

Too soon.

And she still didn't know what he thought, either.

Nancy didn't get the sense that someone was behind her, but still she turned around.

He hadn't followed her.

She sighed in relief. That was what she had been hoping for.

Still…

Still, if that was what she had hoped for, then why was she so disappointed?


	13. Chapter 13

Around midday Nancy found herself running up the big hill that hid the cars, yelling before the car started and got away and hoping that the land didn't block her voice.

José had finally called her to follow Dylan's moves and even shadow him when he left to coordinate deals. Nancy had asked to examine the artifacts to see if Dylan was tampering with them. José agreed that this was a good idea and lauded her cleverness. And so Nancy went into the tool tent carrying a small camera every morning. The pictures went in her notebook with a few notes about Dylan next to each one, just in case someone got a hold of her notebook while she was there. It excused her from digging sometimes, although this work was a lot more time-consuming. She had to treat this side assignment as if it were real; that would tell them they could trust her. As to how to let Dylan know without shooting up red flags to Beltrán and José… that would be difficult enough without also considering she had to balance the Sonny-loving cover. That was José's "leverage." If she dropped that and still continued doing what he wanted her to do, then she'd seem too eager to get in on black market activities. That would get his suspicions going for sure. In his position, Nancy would already be very suspicious of herself.

Up until now Nancy had been following him around the site, taking note of his methods. His visits to Tekax became less often as the finds became more scarce. He hadn't left the site since José had appointed Nancy to watchdog status.

Today, though, Dylan would finally head out to Tekax to set up a sale.

And now she was scrambling, since Dylan had prepared to leave ahead of schedule without alerting her. Not that he could, since he didn't know she was tailing him.

But there, running, moving her limbs and pushing her feet on and trying to keep her breathing even, Nancy thought that it might have been nice.

And so, just as Dylan was about to set off for another friendly chat with a potential buyer in Tekax, he heard a voice. It was too far off for him to make sense of it, but still he figured he'd stay in case he had managed to get himself in trouble of some sort.

When the figure came closer, he saw a flash of red around the head.

He nodded grimly to himself. Of course.

Nancy.

She waved both her hands wide in the air. "Wait!" she panted.

He sighed and waited for her to arrive. Although she was running, it was a long distance, and it would take at least a minute. This would make him late. Which wouldn't make anybody happy.

"I'm going with you," she said, bending to get in the car and pulling repeatedly at the front door handle. Once she realized it was locked, she straightened and tapped her foot.

Dylan got in and unlocked it from her side.

Someone was already inside. One of the diggers. She greeted him.

He looked away.

The car started to rumble. "Disclaimer," Dylan began as they left the site, "I'm British. This is the wrong side of the road for me. It's a good thing there aren't a lot of things for me to crash into."

"But there's no road," Nancy said, turning to look behind her.

"Yeah, well, I'm just that terrible of a driver. Figured I'd say it anyway, especially since I'll probably forget to say it when we get into town where there are roads."

"Do you want me to drive?" Nancy asked.

Dylan sighed. "I'm here; you're there. It'd be more of an effort to switch than the trouble my driving would cause." He reached over and knocked the dashboard on Nancy's side. "Does this have airbags?"

"Somehow I doubt it." Nancy turned around. "Manuel?" She asked tentatively. She was good with names, but most people's names had only been used once at the site—for introductions—because nobody talked.

He nodded.

"Great. Este coche tiene bolsas de aire?"

"You know Spanish?" Dylan asked her, surprised.

"Took it in high school," Nancy replied. "I only know enough to get by."

Manuel shook his head. "Estos coches son más baratos."

Nancy turned to Dylan. "Cheaper cars. I guess most other cars have them. Not these, though."

"Okay. Well." Dylan shifted to four-wheel drive, preparing to navigate open terrain. "Don't die."

"So far I've been lucky." Nancy lay back in her seat. "I don't think you'll be the one to do me in."

"Oh, lots of people have said that."

"And have you killed anyone?"

Dylan looked to be considering a smart-aleck response before remembering that this was a point on which he didn't want there to be debate. "No," he said straightly.

"Good," said Nancy. "Not too long ago I had to deal with someone who had. It wasn't pleasant."

They left it off there for conversation. About fifteen minutes afterward Dylan pulled back onto asphalt. Apart from a few times he drifted past the divider, his driving was perfectly fine. Nothing to warrant the "disclaimer" he had so sincerely provided.

Of course, everything became much more reassuring when he didn't have to share the road with anybody. Apparently Tekax was dead around this time of day.

He turned onto a narrow street crowded with houses with barely enough room to walk between them. Then he pulled to the side of the street and waited for the car to come to a stop.

Manuel chose to stay in the car. His presence might make the buyers suspicious, was his justification.

Nancy's orders were different. She had to follow Dylan. This meant everywhere, pretty much.

They entered a ramshackle gray house that looked abandoned. But Nancy was surprised to see that at least ten people were crammed inside, and all of them stared suspiciously at the newcomers. Only one looked remotely friendly, in fact overly so. He had a cheesy grin on like the stereotypical shyster lawyer. A stereotype her father had been quick to debunk. She bit back a smile, remembering it wouldn't exactly be appropriate for the current environment. Clearly he thought his grin would shave a couple thousand off the price of whatever artifact Dylan was selling.

She checked her memory. This wasn't one of the pieces that had major clues. It was a fragment that didn't have any type of writing on it—the whole thing probably did, but this one was tiny. Besides, it was a building tool. Of course there wouldn't be writing on it. Nancy had to stop assuming that there would be writing on everything.

The smiling man noticed. "Looks like the site is going through a dry spell, yes?" he chuckled.

Dylan didn't share the laugh. For a second he looked annoyed. Then he went back to his cheery self.

A battle of charms, Nancy thought to herself. This would be worth watching.

Nancy remembered that she documented the material on the piece and everything else that seemed noteworthy.

As Dylan reached into the bag he'd brought, she hoped she didn't miss anything.

But he didn't produce the artifact. Instead it was a piece of paper.

"We're going to agree on the price. I'll take this to my superiors. Then you get the money, I get the artifact, and we meet here."

Apparently black market transactions weren't as simple a process as she thought.

She really needed to brush up on those.

Smiling Man's eyes narrowed, although his smile stayed. "What's the girl doing here?"

"Uh," Dylan looked at her.

"I'm here to make sure we really want to sell things to you," said Nancy.

The smiling man's smile finally faded.

Dylan looked like he had swallowed something the wrong way. He looked at her as if to say, "Couldn't you have stuck with secretary?" Nancy had considered that. But for as little as she knew about black market dealings, at least on the ground level, she did know that these were very intimate transactions. There were never secretaries.

Still, she thought, forcing herself to keep eye contact, she probably could have come up with something better.

Smiling Man's smile jumped back. "Caution," he said unctuously, "is to be esteemed. We are dealing with a thorough group, I see. I'm sure you will find that everything here meets your approval."

Nancy neither nodded nor smiled. Standing her ground would result in a better deal. Thinking like a criminal always made her uncomfortable, but this time she felt a strange pride, too.

Then wondered if her conscience had abandoned her completely.

Of course, thinking like a criminal would make it much easier to catch a criminal.

And she always liked finding out she could do new things.

So this had to be a good thing.

Looking relieved, Dylan continued. "Just so we're all on the same page. The object for sale is," he took out a picture, "this. A flint chisel, what looks to be a primitive building tool." He allowed Smiling Man to examine it for a minute or so before he took it back. "225,000 pesos."

Quickly Nancy did the math. That was about $16,500.

Smiling Man didn't look displeased. In fact, his smile grew. "That's a little high, don't you think?"

Nancy thought about speaking but remembered what had happened last time she opened her mouth. If she told him, no this wasn't high, then she ran the risk of offending him. Or, worse—blowing her cover.

"It isn't high at all if you're reasonable." Dylan flashed him a smile of his own. "The chisel is in perfect condition. You'll have museums fighting over it."

"Then who's fighting over it right now?" asked Smiling Man, still smiling.

"I have offers from three other parties."

Looking for any signs of mistruth in Dylan, Nancy couldn't find any. She had to admit she was impressed. She had the ability to judge character and sincerity in many people, but Dylan was good at his game. She'd missed some of his lies in Egypt.

She just hoped he wasn't lying about being on their side.

A few beads of sweat started at Smiling Man's temple and disappeared in the wrinkles around his eyes. "150,000," he said.

"No," said Dylan.

"I really don't have much more to offer," said Smiling Man. "175,000."

"The price is already quite cheap." Dylan examined the fingers of his right hand as he flexed them. "We can take our offer elsewhere."

"Then take it elsewhere."

Dylan sighed and took off his hat, bending his head to the side as he considered the situation. "I can't offer less," he said, voice taking on a confidential tone. "Orders."

A tense silence followed. More sweat formed above Smiling Man's eyebrows.

"Do you," he began slowly, "or do you not, have the money? Because if you don't have 225,000 pesos, I'm going to take this somewhere else for someone who sees sense in the price."

"No one will see sense in the price." But Smiling Man's lips had started to twitch.

Dylan watched. He knew that several similar pieces had sold for 250,000 based on what Beltrán had told him. But they wanted to sell quickly. There simply wasn't a good place to keep the artifacts when the tents came down every day. Most of the time they ended up in the cars, which was why Beltrán and José always stood on the big hill over where the cars were kept, as far as he could tell.

Then abruptly he turned to leave.

Nancy stood, wanting to see how this finished. Because she could tell it wasn't finished.

"Come on," he snapped to her.

Oh. Right. Leaving was a tactic to make the other man desperate.

"All right," Smiling Man said behind them.

Nancy, who had scurried ahead of Dylan in her hurry to keep up the charade, saw his leer when she turned. He was facing away from everybody else, so they didn't see. But what Nancy saw was him having power he never had before coming to Mexico, and him relishing it. What she saw scared her a little.

"If I come by on Saturday," said Dylan, turning back around to them, "Will you have the money?"

"Yes."

"Good." After glancing around the place, he left—for real that time.

Nancy followed him. Neither said a word until the car pulled out of the dirt that comprised the driveway.

And neither said a word for some time after that, either.

Just as Nancy was starting to doze off, Dylan spoke. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

She jumped, not so much surprised at the sound of his voice as she was by the sudden quality it had taken on. It was almost…

Gruff.

Not the Dylan she knew.

"Thought you needed company," she replied.

"They still don't trust me, do they?"

"I don't know," said Nancy, looking pointedly in the rearview at José.

Dylan bit his lip and curled his fingers more tightly around the steering wheel. When he exhaled, it was tense and audible. His shoulders didn't deflate with the rest of him. "Never mind. But don't start talking like that again."

"I should be seen and not heard, yeah?"

"This isn't your avenue. You don't know how to handle these people."

Nancy whirled on him. "You've been excluding me for the past few weeks. How am I supposed to know how to talk to them?"

"That isn't my call," Dylan said through a set jaw. His teeth were almost gritted together with a millimeter of space between them.

"No. It's Beltrán's." Nancy crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "And now I'm here."

"I'm not sure if you can tell, but anything can blow a sale. Anything. That may or may not include insulting the buyer."

"You needed help, and I offered it."

"I was going to say," Dylan began at the same time.

Nancy fell silent.

"I was going to say that you were my partner in setting these sales up. That I looked into potential buyers and you were a financial consultant. You looked into other black market dealings to compare prices."

All right. Nancy did hate to admit it, but that was better. "Usually when people are quiet like that…"

"They don't know what to say. I know. You wanted to cover that up before enough time passed to make them suspicious. But timing is crucial in these things. It's like it's all staged, but it isn't." He looked briefly at her before returning his eyes to the terrain. "I'm not stupid. I know why you're here. But we're doing this my way. That's the way it has to be done."

Nancy was livid. She would have argued if Manuel weren't in the back seat. She would have pointed out that until now, Dylan had no luck getting involved with the black market. That she had almost as much experience as he did.

She stopped.

And what would he say? That she's still been on the side of the law all her life?

That would be correct.

"Okay," she replied.

For the rest of the ride back Nancy worked on engaging Manuel in light conversation, mainly because she felt uncomfortable not talking to him because it almost seemed like pretending he wasn't there. Those were his orders more or less, just to go to Tekax with Dylan and not to talk to him or even help him with the sales—just to stay with the car. Still, ignoring him didn't seem right.

By the time they pulled in around the familiar set of hills of Usrique, the conversation had all but petered out. Nancy had spent the last five minutes dozing. She disliked sleeping in the middle of the day, but in this case she knew it wouldn't encroach on her ability to sleep at night. Even if she wasn't digging as much, she ended up just as exhausted.

"Nancy?" Dylan asked suddenly.

"Yeah?"

He didn't finish the thought right away. Instead he rested his head on the edge of the steering wheel. "Be careful."

"What do you mean?"

"The weather's been hot lately. Drink lots of water. Take care of yourself."

He got out of the car and opened the door for Manuel, who left as well, leaving Nancy alone and a bit bewildered.

She'd gotten the sense he didn't want her around for these trips. But there was a separate, almost palpable feeling of foreboding.

Be careful, she mouthed to herself. Was it a suggestion? Or a warning?

Was he just apprehensive about the possibility of getting caught?

Or was he hiding a guilty conscience?

She found herself still considering these questions as she finally left the car three minutes later. José probably expected her to go straight back to digging. But instead she stayed on that side of the big hill, out of sight, stretching herself against the incline and taking a few deep breaths.

"Shouldn't you be working?"

She scrambled up. "I was just feeling a little heat sickness…" she defended.

"Then I'm not the right guy for you."

Her eyes rose.

Sonny stood there, grinning at her. "I'm sorry to interrupt your nap. But, after all, you interrupted mine."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Nancy snarked before lying back again.

"I think you're getting the hang of this 'relaxing' thing," he said, standing in front of her and picking at a scab of dirt on the back of his hand.

"Don't ask me if I should be working. I thought you were José," Nancy said, equally angry with him and herself. She should have recognized the sound of his voice, at least. Apparently she was too tired even for that.

"Ah, no. It's just Sunspot."

"Shouldn't you be working?" She opened her eyes and stared up at him.

"Maybe. In some universe." He gestured to a spot of grass next to her. "You mind?"

"Go for it."

He sat. "I've been thinking about that stone fragment."

"Oh no. You've been thinking again?"

"Hah hah. Yes, I've been thinking again." He pulled his notebook from behind his back and opened it to the last filled page. "See?"

Nancy moved to look. "That's a picture of José with long hair and eyelashes in a petal dress."

"Huh?" Sonny's eyes widened. He looked down at the drawing. "Ooops," he laughed sheepishly. "Wrong notebook."

"Let's see what else you've got." Nancy took it from his hands.

"Noooo, let's not." He snatched it back. "None of it's relevant anyway."

She threw him an odd glance. "Since when do you care?"

"I don't know." He hugged his notebook to his chest.

"Yeah, well, I respect your space."

His eyes went wide as he surveyed her without blinking, and his head tilted slightly to the side. He looked ten to fifteen years younger then, every bit the child he seemed for the rest of the time. Then, without warning, he burst into raucous laughter, rolling around in the grass ten feet away and then five feet to each side and making an utter spectacle of himself.

"What?" Nancy asked, annoyed.

"That is the least true statement ever." He said, finally settling on his side facing her. "You've never respected anyone's space in your life."

"That's not true," she protested. "When I'm not on a case I do."

"When are you not on a case?"

Well, he had her there.

"Either way," she said, changing the subject. "Don't let _Rosie_ see that," she said, rolling onto her own side and pointing to the notebook.

"Wow," he said with a new admiration. "You have a warped mind."

"No," Nancy said, turning away and trying to ignore the sudden flutter in her chest. "I just know the way you think."

"If you know the way I think, then what am I thinking right now?"

"I can't imagine."

"Pick a number between 1 and 10."

"Why?"

"Just do it," he said in sing-song.

She sighed. "Fine…"

"Don't tell me what it is!" he blurted before she could say anything else.

"I wasn't going to tell you," she said, forcing herself to be patient.

"Okay. Uh, seven."

"Three."

Silence.

"Oh," he said quietly.

"Well, I mean, seven was my second choice."

"Was it?" A happy note reentered his voice.

"Yeah." Nancy rolled onto her back and stretched her head to look at him.

They passed a few seconds in comfortable silence.

Knowing Sonny, that was all the silence they'd get before his thoughts switched track.

Sure enough, Nancy thought as his eyes lit up.

"Wait." A new energy grew in his face. " _Wait_."

"I'm waiting."

"I just remembered something! What was in the other notebook!" He sat up. "The Olmecs carved their writings on stone. The Mayans wrote on paper. This proves it's an early Mayan site!"

"What proves it's a Mayan site at all?" Nancy asked doubtfully.

"Because of the distinct cultural differences, don't you see? The Olmecs wouldn't have…" he paused and tried again. "The Olmecs have different gods. Different language." He began talking faster. "Where's your notebook?"

"Here—"

He wrenched it from her hands and pried it open to the newest entry, tearing a couple of pages in the process. Then he pointed at the glyphs she'd drawn in with enough energy to bend his finger back the wrong way. Which he did, as Nancy saw him flinch a little. "See this? Their writings never looked like that."

"If you say so," Nancy said.

"But don't you know the significance of this?"

"I have an idea." Still she couldn't help but smile at his excitement. Nancy had taken a role in changing history numerous times. This wasn't so new to her.

"I just can't believe we _found_ it!" Sonny said with a gleeful, awed laugh. "Nancy, this means _everything_ for us. S.P.I.E.D. us," he clarified quickly. "Because they'll, everyone will know we accomplished it, you and I, and it gets the message out that we have to do something and that we are doing something else otherwise this wouldn't have appeared!"

Out of the corner of her eye Nancy saw José pop up above the curve of the hill. "Shhh," she tried.

Sonny started looking around.

Drat. That wasn't the reaction she'd been looking for.

Nancy put a hand on his cheek to stop his head from moving. Then she scooted closer to his chest and pressed her lips to his.

At first he seemed surprised. Then Nancy felt an arm wrap around her waist.

For a second she was able to enjoy it, him, them, there.

But Sonny pulled away.

She stared at him.

He blinked. "You interrupted me for that?"

"Uh, no," Nancy said, "José was here a second ago."

"And?"

"You were being conspicuous."

"This isn't my domain," he retorted. "You're supposed to worry about the cover."

"That was the cover."

"I don't think I was being too conspicuous."

"You were yelling," Nancy informed him flatly.

"Oh." He paused. "Was I? I do that sometimes."

"You know what?" Nancy began, suddenly angry. "Forget it. I have to go."

"Mmm, no you don't." Sonny looked amused. "You're just looking for an excuse to be excused. And your excuse could be better."

"Could it? I think I have the best excuse in the world. There are those artifacts I still have to analyze, which could take hours, and with everything José is asking me to do, I'm really, really behind. There are so many clues, and I have to see how they fit together—if they fit together—and what they mean. This isn't a vacation. It never is a vacation."

"Clearly," said Sonny with raised eyebrows. "Why don't you take a day off?"

"I don't want to take a day off."

"Maybe you did at one point and then you forgot you ever did."

This was met with silence.

"Well, why don't we talk?" Sonny suggested. "It's been a while since we just talked."

"I really don't have time."

"Okay." Sonny crossed his arms. "Tell me why you don't have time."

"Because I've spent too much time thinking and talking about things that aren't relevant to this case."

"Yeah. How dare you enjoy yourself? Enjoying yourself is such a bad thing."

Nancy felt an unfamiliar lurch in her chest. Before she knew what she was doing, she was yelling. She stood as her voice rose, ramming her words into him without aim in an exhausted tirade. Vaguely she became aware that the sentences kept taking an upward inflection, which meant questions.

Always questions.

And when she finished, having little recollection of what she'd said, he continued to lie there without moving, expression unchanged as he regarded her. "Don't you just feel you're fighting against something instead of letting it take its course?" he asked.

Sonny stayed where he was when he said that, but he somehow gave the illusion that he was moving closer with every word. He didn't have to be referring to her with his "you." He could've been using the general "you." He could've meant a million different things with what he said, but he only met one—Nancy knew that—and which one it was she couldn't put her finger on, could only think that none of this made _sense_ and it wasn't like it was with Ned because with that everything had made sense and he had just asked her out and they'd gotten on so well from the beginning, that it just made sense, they just made sense, she enjoyed his simplicity, he admired her complexity…

Nancy took a deep breath. Why was she even thinking about… about him in the same sentence as Ned?

"You know some things are simpler than you think." Sonny broke into her thoughts.

Nancy jolted. Then she was angry again, angry she couldn't even have her thoughts to herself anymore. He still could have been using the general you. His voice was thoughtful and distant enough for it, which meant he was looking at a whole.

She shook her head. She knew him too well, had worked on knowing him too much.

But just from the words, it sounded like he was talking to her. A simpler conversation, when everything was understood. A complete conversation. He covered the whole. She covered—

"Details," Sonny shook his head. "Semantics. You don't need those right now."

An edgy, grainy silence followed. To her credit, Nancy did try to stop thinking about everything at once. Unfortunately she wasn't able to.

Sonny frowned. He wasn't paying attention to her anymore. His mouth opened and closed several times before making some sound. Finally he said, "Well, I have wanted to talk to you for some time now, mainly to—"

José came back. Sonny, the first to see him, inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Been fun. It's been fun. Should probably get back to work." He pushed himself off the grass and walked away.

"Sonny?" she called, hating the note of desperation that entered her voice.

"Yeah?" He turned his head without turning his body, hands still in his pockets.

"Come back here."

He trudged back, muttering and avoiding her eyes.

"What were you going to say? Just now?"

"Nothing. I wasn't going to say anything," he said, though he still looked frustrated about something that very much wasn't nothing.

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, trying to read his expressions. "Fine. Then maybe you can clear something up for me."

"Sure," he said mildly.

"What did you mean when you said it was just a kiss a few weeks ago?"

His eyes shot up in surprise. Nancy knew what he was thinking. It was a shot in the dark, and she nailed it. Like hitting a star in space. Not that he didn't expect her not to nail it. Just not quite this soon.

A moment later his eyes settled as he recomposed himself.

"At Pancake City, before we left," Nancy continued. "You said, quote unquote, 'It was one kiss, and we really don't have that much in common."

An eyebrow rose. "Is that in your case notes?"

"This isn't a joke, Sonny!"

"Fair enough. Sorry."

"What does that mean?"

"Okay." He took a few steps backward, waving his arms. "You're normally the calm one, so I have no idea what to do right now."

"Are you really diverting the subject right now?"

"No, I'm just trying to figure out where this is coming from."

"From speaking irresponsibly. This is all your fault."

"It's always all my fault," Sonny replied blankly. "Are you actually surprised?"

"What did you mean?" Nancy advanced. "Did that not mean anything to you?"

He froze.

"I just, I just, that was the one thing I thought I could keep."

"It meant everything to me," he said softly.

Frowning, Nancy waited for him to continue.

"But when I saw you, you didn't seem receptive. That's honestly the only reason I said that. You seemed to want to be needed for professional reasons. I don't blame you."

"You didn't call me for eight months!"

Sonny bit his lip. "That was stupid. I'm sorry."

"How was I supposed to respond?"

"Probably the way you did." He flinched. "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry," she snapped.

"All right. How about that… I feel very strong… feelings about you? I, uh, really want us to keep seeing each other and—"

Nancy shook her head and kissed him again, this time with such dizzying force that she almost pushed both of them over, embracing him awkwardly with one arm around his neck and the other around his back. The air seemed to cool around them, leveling out the intensity of weeks worth of unspoken feelings amidst the harrying path the investigation had taken of late. And even when she broke away she didn't let go, burying her face in his neck and clinging to him tightly.

She could tell Sonny's surprise from the way he was still slightly out of sync. She didn't dare move her head to meet his eyes. And when his arms went around her, she felt happiness, his happiness, and for a second she was wildly joyful, and the rest of the time she was content.

Four or five times she heard something odd, and far off, but it didn't matter, not right now. Nothing else mattered.

Then the noise came again, and all of a sudden she remembered where she was and what if it was Beltrán and why was she still thinking in run-on sentences because she was annoying herself but anyway back to the noise.

A throat clearing.

Nancy raised her head just slightly so she could see over Sonny's shoulder.

Dylan surveyed them without comment. That's when Nancy knew, even before he said anything, and a feeling of reasonless dread with accurate precision pervaded her. Dylan, who always had something cheeky to say.

She blinked. Realization washed over her. This was the first time that she actually got where Sonny was coming from. She'd become better at trying to understand.

Now she just understood.

And she understood something was wrong even before Dylan told them. And when he did, she didn't believe the words, yet still felt her feet moving. For the first time she kept pace with Sonny as they tore over the hill to see for themselves, feeling his wild pulse in their quickly and clumsily linked hands.


	14. Chapter 14

At first Nancy didn't know what the problem was. When the set of pits whipped under her as she and Sonny reached the top of the hill, she saw that they had unearthed a large stone slab, at least as tall as she was. _This_ was stone the Maya would have written on. It depicted a scene between what looked like gods and had glyphs hammered in under it. It appeared remarkably well preserved.

"I need to get a closer look," said Sonny.

"Let's go, then." They started to make their way down the hill.

"Nancy! Where have you been?" Beltrán snapped up at her. "Come down here."

Just then Nancy remembered that her relationship cover excluded Beltrán, who disallowed relationships between diggers. José looked at her as someone reasonably sane looked at someone crazy. Now his leverage was lost and he had no reason to continue asking her to look into black market affairs, not when this was supposed to be a secret from Beltrán and now Beltrán knew. She felt humiliated. She was sick at her failure.

Maybe Beltrán wouldn't notice this one indiscretion, but José would lose his faith in her as a hard worker, and he might close off the area of investigation he had opened. And even if not, Nancy's misstep bothered her. And the sudden gritty air around the site contributed to the desire to be far, far away from here. Still she kept her face innocent and authoritative. She struggled to remember what Dylan told her, something troubling, but truthfully she hadn't been listening as well as she should have right then.

And then she saw it.

Lying right next to the stone.

The power saw.

She knew it.

Knew it was out of place from the moment she saw it when she first arrived at the site.

"They're going to cut it up!" Sonny said incredulously.

"I know," she replied. After a pause, she continued. "But why would they do it?"

"To move? To sell in chunks?" He spoke as if from another continent of shock. Then words began tumbling out of his mouth in a sudden fury. "But I can't believe they'd actually go there!"

They appeared behind the other diggers without any recollection of getting there. Why do it then, in the middle of the day? Nancy wondered. With the daylight and the noise, it would be too conspicuous.

Sonny leaned his head closer to hers without looking away. "We need to do what we can now," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "I have a feeling that its minutes are numbered." He led them in front of a row of diggers, edging closer. "There. Now we can see." Quickly he took out his phone, zoomed in, and snapped a picture. He took several more, each closer than the last or closing in on certain portions.

For once, the site was not dead silent. A blanket of murmuring made itself apparent around all their heads. The diggers spoke with one another in words Nancy could only partially understand, though the varying tones of their voices gave away their disconcertion.

Alexander and Holly shared the devastation as Mayan scholars. They seemed to very much like Henrik, who cared just as much but took part in illegal activities so he could continue his studies and keep caring. Holly already seemed to be making a decent living, and at first Nancy wondered why she was even here. But mingled with the pain and disgust in her eyes was something else: understanding. Maybe she had come here for the understanding. Maybe she had been well off all her life and never experienced or saw around her this desperate, battleground respect, the searing realization of "it's it or me, this artifact or me."

Richard did not hold this same grief, but the others' was infectious for him.

Even Lou looked uncomfortable.

And all of them showed Nancy that Henrik surrounded himself with people like himself, conscientious people who had to forge their own moral code if they couldn't strictly abide by the one they were offered, the one that couldn't give them the means to live the lives they wanted. She met Dylan's eyes, too, just then, before he bowed his head, and knew that she still disagreed with the choices he and Lou and Henrik made.

But she'd never know what it was like to be in their shoes.

Still, in that moment, she knew she cared too. Maybe she couldn't appreciate the artifacts as much as someone who'd studied them for years, but she felt fiercely the wrong that was about to take place.

She moved to go further forward.

Sonny held her back. "Careful," he warned.

"What do you mean, 'careful?'" she hissed. "They're going to destroy this artifact!"

"And there's nothing you can do to stop it," Sonny said. The corners of his mouth pulled downward.

"I have got to try something. This isn't right."

"You're just going to put yourself in danger. You won't stop them."

"I can convince them to delay it until—"

"You don't have that sway with them. None of us do."

"But I have to do something."

"Okay." He looked squarely at her. "Find enough evidence to put them away so they won't do it anymore. That's why we're here."

Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

"I know it's culturally significant. Just look at everybody here. This is their heritage." He looked down at their intertwined fingers. "It is still just a thing. It isn't living. So don't try swapping your life for it. It isn't a fair trade."

She stayed. She sighed a shuddering sigh. She ignored the lump in her throat. The remembered desire to be anywhere else.

Beside her, Sonny frowned at the stone. "Those aren't Mayan gods."

"What do you mean, they aren't Mayan gods?"

"They're not Mayan gods. I spent a few months with Joanna hitting me over the head with them. Sometimes literally. With clipboards. Believe me, I know. I couldn't forget any of them, and I tried."

"Then what gods are they?"

"They might not be gods."

She sighed. "Then what non-gods are they?"

"That almost looks like…" Sonny leaned forward. "Is that…"

The rest of his question was drowned out by Beltrán, who barked for everyone to stand back as he picked up the power saw and turned it on.

Nancy moved her mouth next to Sonny's ear. "Take a video. Evidence."

Sonny did so. "Alexander's not around," He said. Nancy could tell his apprehension from his fingers moving and flexing. "I'd love to know what those glyphs say."

"You can read them."

"I overestimated my ability to read the glyphs. Couldn't do it last time."

"Look at it. It's only one sentence. Give it a shot. I think you can do it."

"I think I need to have the book with me to actually remember what they're supposed to look like but…" Sonny's voice trailed off, his mouth agape. His eyes widened. He mouthed a series of words to himself. Then did it again.

"What is it?"

"That can't be right."

"What can't be right?" Nancy's voice rose above a whisper.

"Shhh. I'll tell you later." His eyes moved up to a drawing in the corner. He froze. "I can't believe it."

"Can't believe wh—"

"Look." He nodded at the drawing at the top right corner of the stone, what Nancy had assumed was a set of glyphs. Three triangular figures stood at fixed points from one another.

Nancy shook her head and looked at him. "I don't—"

"Look again." Sonny said. "Doesn't that look exactly like the drawing on the bottom of the bowl? What I thought was a triangle on a line and you thought were clock hands?"

Her eyes widened. "Of course. The bowl was chipped. That drawing was incomplete!"

"And look at that one," he pointed, voice going faster every inch Beltrán advanced with the tool. "It's different from the others."

"Yeah. Those two others are pyramid shapes."

"It's a ziggurat!" Sonny's eyes widened. "And the other two are pyramids, not just pyramid shapes. And Nancy, look at where they're positioned."

"I'm looking," she said quickly.

"The ziggurat's at the top there. And the two pyramids are below it to its left. And the one on the far left is way below the one on the right."

"You know you're going to have to explain this to me," Nancy said with some exasperation as Beltrán got close enough to touch it.

"The ziggurat's in Sumer. The right pyramid is in Egypt. And the far right one…"

"We're standing in," Nancy realized after a few seconds.

Sonny nodded. "I've studied the Annunaki's contact with all three locations." As Beltrán began to cut into the stone, he gripped her hand. His lips were smashed so tightly together that they were white.

Nancy wanted the twenty seconds of bliss back. A few minutes ago she'd wanted progress—all of her desires hinged on the investigation and finding a breakthrough. Now all of a sudden she wanted to keep the slow days and weeks.

Dylan's eyes were tinier than she ever remembered them. The locked tension in his face made him almost unrecognizable.

"Ana harrani sa alaktasa la tarat," Sonny said beside her. He tensed as he did so. He spoke out of desperation for any distraction.

Nancy looked at him.

"It's a Sumerian saying. Road whose course does not turn back."

"Sumerian?" she asked. "What made you think of it just now?"

"It's written on the stone."

Nancy closer examined his face. It was white.

"It's written in Mayan hieroglyphs on the stone. I swear I saw it there. I checked it. You saw me check it. But somehow I was able to read it, understand it. And I couldn't believe it."

"Road whose course does not turn back? That could mean just about anything. It doesn't really say anything."

"No, but it's the fact that it was used." He turned to her. "How does that set of words make it from the primeval society in the Middle East to an ancient society across an ocean?"

"It's only seven words long," Nancy offered. "Maybe it's a coincidence."

"'Detectives aren't allowed to believe in coincidences.'" He smiled wanly.

Nancy forced herself to stop and think about this. It seemed so impossible, and yet why was the ziggurat there at the top of the stone? It did look like Sumerian culture somehow made its way to South America thousands of miles and years later. There were of course an array of directions in which she could work toward a reasonable explanation for this phenomenon.

But it was just so incredible.

"Inanna," he muttered. "One of the gods looked exactly like Inanna."

"Who's Inanna?"

"Sumerian goddess. Think Aphrodite equivalent."

"How do you know it looked like her?" Nancy asked warily. "It's on a slab of stone. Not much detail."

"Most things depict her holding or wearing seven very specific objects to aid her in her descent to the Underworld. I think I saw a couple of those. Anyway, now I have a photo."

"What does this mean?" she asked.

"I don't know."

Nancy moved closer to Sonny's side. "What do we do?" she asked, determination permeating her tone.

Sonny only shook his head, looking on in unending dismay.

"Why pieces?" Nancy asked, knowing her voice was lost on him. She spoke in a lower tone. "Why pieces, then this?"

"Do as much investigating as you want on this front," Sonny said. "This needs to stop. Seriously, if I grab you for help on something and you're busy doing something about this…"

She squeezed his hand to signify she understood.

"Just let me know, and we'll regroup," he finished in a murmur.

"Soon I'll have what I need," Nancy answered, voice lowering several pitches. "Will you have what you need?"

"I think we need the same thing," Sonny said. "Later on the greater importance will become clear. We can work on those at the same time. Right now we deal with this."

"How much time do we have?" Nancy asked, voice hitching as another chunk fell away.

"I don't know," replied Sonny. "Not much."

"We need to make progress on the clues. Tonight."

"Where's Dylan in all this?"

"I don't know. He won't talk to me."

"That's going to have to change. Aren't you supposed to be shadowing him?"

"He's closed off just about as much as anybody can be closed off."

"Well, find a way."

"Easier said than done."

"You need my help?"

"Maybe," Nancy said thoughtfully. "I'm worried about him, but I'm also not sure how much I trust him."

"Okay. Right now let's focus on the clues in what we've been finding."

"Love to," Nancy said with a sinking feeling, "but we have to get back to work." She looked at him reluctantly. Finally after a few seconds she let go of his hand.

"We'll get this," Sonny told her before she started walking away.

Just then another figure appeared at the top of the hill that hid the vehicles.

Nancy stopped and looked.

The person's hair blew loosely in front of her, showing it to be about ten inches long.

It was a woman.

The same woman she'd seen in Tekax.

The woman's sharp gaze lowered to the stone, now in pieces. Nancy watched as she watched. A hardness already stood in her face, one that seemed to be reactionary to some previous pain, a lot of pain from the look of it. And her expression hardened one more notch before she turned away.

"Claire!" Beltrán ran up the hill to meet her. "Claire, look what we've just found. After weeks of meager findings, we have this. Almost perfect condition. It'll bring in a lot."

At that moment Dylan's words flashed briefly through Nancy's mind. "There's been a find," he had said—verbatim, breaking the few minutes' break she'd enjoyed with Sonny. Her heart tugged. It seemed so long ago now. And what a find it had been. No flaw that she could see.

Until they had cut it into pieces.

Then Nancy continued to look at this woman, Claire, as she moved forward to the dig site expressing neither approval nor disapproval, and something clicked in her mind.

Claire Warwick.

The archaeology student she'd met at that dig in Illinois, the one who never wanted her there. Claire had tried so hard to prove herself intelligent to those around that she often said things that were very false. The harder she tried to be mature, the more she came across as immature. The others had made fun of her for that and her snobbish demeanor.

This wasn't the same Claire Warwick that stood in front of her now. This Claire had finally tasted her success in the only way she could come out on top—by setting up her own network of black market dealings and playing unfair.

Probably in response to what she thought had been others playing unfair.

And still Nancy found she didn't hate the woman. She only felt sad for her.

Then she remembered that Claire might remember her, especially in how strongly she had resented her, and she bowed her head and tugged her hat over her hair. She knew it wasn't realistic to expect Claire not to see her at some point if she walked through the site, but at least then Nancy could limit her exposure to a passing chance. Besides which the possibility remained that Claire would not stay long enough to walk through the site. Maybe she had only come to glance, to check up on how things were going.

Although, Nancy reminded herself as Claire continued to descend the hill, Tekax was a good while away from here. She doubted that Claire wouldn't want to stay for at least a little bit.

Claire immediately went over to talk with Beltrán and José and Dylan. They moved out of earshot of the others.

Nancy began to follow them. She had orders to follow Dylan.

Of course, the implication was to follow him when Beltrán and José weren't around.

Still, something ate away at her, pushing her forward to listen to their conversation. This investigation needed a jumpstart. Witnessing the destruction of the new find had set fire to her blood. It was time to figure out what was going on. Then it would be time for them to get out of here.

Sonny looked up from his shovel as she passed by. She stopped briefly as their eyes met. He smiled. "Be careful," he mouthed. "Sincerely, Sunspot."

She smiled back and tried to ignore the sensation of helium filling her body as she continued after the three.

Returning to his work, Sonny gazed at the ground for a few seconds before impaling it with a shovel. There was that development, he smiled. Then, finally, all this finally moving forward. No, what had happened today wasn't okay. He looked up to the sky. But it would be okay.

And when he thought about all that, he almost felt the wind of thousands of years past rushing through him like he wasn't even born yet, blowing in the direction of some great change where past and future met. And his mind kept returning to that Sumerian saying that he'd carried with him, having learned it in Akkadian, Canaanite, Sanskrit, and Mayan and Egyptian hieroglyphs in an excited frenzy.

Road whose course does not turn back.


	15. Chapter 15

Nancy hopped pits until she stood in the farthest one out. Beltrán, José, Claire, and Dylan had walked out far in the opposite direction from the cars, stopping near the top of the opposite hill that overlooked the site. Smart. That way they could still keep an eye on everyone and talk without being overheard.

Or so they thought.

Waiting until she was sure their backs were turned, Nancy crawled around the bottom of the hill to the other side. That way she'd get closer, and they wouldn't see her. After all, they would have no reason to walk to the top of the hill and then descend on the other side. That would put them too far from the site and diggers.

"How many pieces for the stone slab?" Nancy heard Claire ask.

Good. Perfect.

"Fifteen," answered Beltrán. "Pieces are large enough to retain some of the images or text and more of the value, and there's still enough of them to get plenty of money."

"That's something," Claire said. "But we need a lot more like this to stay ahead."

"But we fear that the site is running out," José said.

A silence followed.

"We fear nothing of the kind," Beltrán replied, sending him a shrewd glance. "He's just momentarily discouraged, Claire."

"Good," said Claire. "Because I would not like to have to deal with this. And I would not like to have to replace you with people who are more competent."

Another rift, Nancy noted. José wasn't honest with Beltrán, and Beltrán wasn't honest with Claire.

Soon this would all be coming together. Nancy would get what she needed. Dylan would get what he needed. Sonny would get what he needed. And then they'd sit back and watch the site crumble.

Yes, this assignment had been daunting. There had been a higher risk factor. But Nancy had busted groups much more consistent than this one. The tension here was just one more assurance that this would soon be over.

"Have you met Dylan?" Beltrán said quickly. "He's pushed up the prices a lot for what we've been finding lately. And those have been scraps. Imagine what we'll get for what we found today."

"Very pleased to meet you," Dylan chimed in. "Been working a lot with men lately. Good to have you here for a change."

A harsh sigh followed. "Save the schmaltz for the sales. Really, I mean it. The more of that you waste on me, the lower the price will be."

"As you say," he replied, sounding unfazed.

"Yes, as she says," said José. "What she says goes."

"Do you have records of the sales?" Claire asked.

"Yes," Dylan replied.

"Good. We'll need those to make some provenance records."

Well. Dylan was on top of things. Now it was just a matter of time. He had records of the sales. Now he just needed to somehow record the process of falsifying provenance records. No, Nancy corrected herself. Now that she was following Dylan's activities, she could do that herself. She could assemble the proof. Perfect. She preferred investigations this way, with all of the investigative work ultimately falling back to herself. Dylan just didn't have that type of experience. Now that José had her sharing the process, she felt more like an investigator and less like an investigative consultant.

"I'll be happy to do that."

After this there was another silence.

"Well, I'm off," Dylan said. Apparently his sense told him his presence was the reason for the silence. "Until later!"

No one returned the goodbye. In the seconds after he left, Nancy thought she heard the sound of feet plodding in the grass. She flattened herself against the earth and hoped she was wrong.

"How long until you get rid of him?" Claire asked.

Dylan had been right.

"Once he's liquidated all of the pieces from today's find," Beltrán answered immediately. "I'll tell him to hurry."

Nancy was shocked. Wasn't Beltrán the one who trusted him?

"Good," said José. "He makes me uneasy."

"Everything makes you uneasy," Beltrán retorted.

"Speaking of that, what about that girl?"

Nancy froze.

"The one with the red hair?"

"Nancy?" Beltrán asked.

Her heart sank. He'd mentioned the name. Now Claire would know her for sure.

"She is a good worker," Beltrán continued. "A hard worker."

"Very helpful," José added.

"Helpful?" Claire said, sneer audible. "Oh yes. She's always been _helpful_."

She remembered her, all right.

"You know the girl?" Beltrán asked in surprise.

"Oh no, but I know the type."

Nancy's brow wrinkled in confusion and wariness. Whatever the reason was for Claire pretending she didn't know her, it couldn't have been good.

"She is helpful," said Beltrán. "That is important to us."

"I agree." There was a pause. "Do you have an extra space in one of the sleeping tents?"

"Are you planning on staying?" Beltrán asked.

"Yes, I am. I don't like hearing that the site is turning barren. With me here I'm sure that'll turn around."

"You need not have anything but confidence in our leadership ability."

"José!" Beltrán hissed.

"Is that right, José?" Nancy heard muffled footsteps. "When I met you, you were one of the diggers slogging away in the dirt and mud. Unpaid. _I made you_. And I'll be more than happy to drop you back off there in Yaxcabá where you belong."

Nancy wondered what this meant. Was Claire high up in the black market antiquities trade? Had she handed him the position of overseer? Given him a place in the trade?

"That won't be necessary, Claire," Beltrán assured. "I'll keep him in line."

Rooted to her seat, Nancy continued to listen even as their voices died while they descended the opposite direction from her. Soon they stopped talking altogether when they reached a closer proximity to the diggers.

* * *

Dylan couldn't explain the sinking feeling he got when he walked off with them and, now, away from them. But it somehow seemed wrong, all wrong, that she'd be here right now. It couldn't have been in conjunction with this most recent find that had been dug up fifteen minutes ago, since the drive from Tekax to Usrique was a lot longer than fifteen minutes. She had to be here for some other reason. It didn't feel like an ordinary checkup.

And the fact that she had so quickly come to talk to Beltrán and José and him, Dylan, the new guy, gave him a funny feeling. A bad funny feeling.

As if he was the reason she came. As if they trusted him less every day that passed.

Besides which, it was just so odd for them to cut up the artifact during the daylight with everyone watching. And especially for the people who lived here it was salt on the wounds. It felt cruel. It felt like an expression of power, a mindgame, so relished by the leaders that it was done at the expense of nighttime security. Why else would they have done it at the riskier time?

Everything about this was so completely bizarre.

It didn't help that he was doing the exact same thing he'd been told not to do by the request of those who told him not to do it. That left him quite confused. Now also it left him lonely, and fearing his own mortality.

Which he hadn't really done since those rocks had fallen on him in Nefertari's tomb. Before then he'd always been down on his luck, it wasn't new, but that hadn't started to set in until he went there. But somehow he'd always made it work, and the spontaneity excited him and made him feel at home. An eviction notice on his London flat had brought him to the end of the honeymoon stage. Not that it was a huge deal. It could have been worse. He barely spent any time there, after all. But it had been a turning point. For the first time he realized he could fail. Then there'd been another turning point in that dark, sandy tomb, alone. For the first time he realized that he could lose his life.

When he reached the familiar set of pits, Dylan's feet lingered and stopped almost without his noticing. Nobody looked up at his arrival. But then again, he hadn't worked with them in some time. They saw him throw his lot in with the overseers. Now there was a rift. This wasn't his area anymore.

Turning to look Beltrán, José, and Claire one more time, Dylan noticed they were standing just over the other side of the hill now, visible waist-up from the land that hid their feet.

That wasn't his area, either.

Dylan decided that he'd stressed out enough over the danger of this situation. For now he'd let it lie, think about other things for a while. He didn't consider himself a coward anyway. He really didn't. He lithely dodged the harder spots of life and glided through the path with the fewest obstacles between him and his happiness. Because let's face it, he thought with an ironic twist of the lip, happiness really isn't that easy to get to.

Especially if people were as unskilled as he was. He'd tried University. That hadn't worked out. It hadn't motivated him.

To be completely fair with himself, though, he had never attempted University outside of London. London bored him. London was not a place for a chipper person, at least, not a chipper person who preferred the sun to the rain. He did love his native city, but he found himself tired and cross when he tried spending all his time there.

And when he left the city, pardon the cliche, his eyes had shot open.

Travel suited him, he found. At first he thought he was born in the wrong place and he needed to move to another. But no place felt like home as much as all of them did, melding into some sort of intercity utopia with a skyline taken from 52 different locations. And he left each place before it could become boring, and ruined, for him, establishing a base of a few of his favorite places among which he alternated. And he never took one of them for granted.

Dylan knew he had been lucky. Most people found one of the things they wanted to do and then some time later found the other necessary thing they wanted to do—the money thing. Some never found it, sitting in a job they hated in a location they used to love but grew to hate when the blackness spread to other portions of their lives. Or those who found the job they loved but not the place they loved. That was probably even more unfortunate, he guessed. That made it even harder to leave. Many people spent their lives without ever finding that other thing.

He had found it right away.

A few diggers looked quizzically up at Dylan as he grinned to the air. First it was sort of unofficial. In South Africa a group of French people had run into him, thinking he was a tour guide, and slapped some money in his hand. Dylan wasn't ever chivalrous enough to refuse money. Besides, he thought. He was doing them a favor. This was what they wanted. He was just making them happy. His smile grew. He didn't understand them, and they didn't understand him. Most of the stuff on that tour had been shamelessly fabricated, but he never felt guilty for it. Mostly because at the end of the day, all their smiles were wide and fresh.

Dylan had always known he liked people. Until then he didn't know he had an affinity for working with them. Maybe it was mainly because one of the French people, a woman around thirty years old, spent all that time ogling him. And from the way her eyes fell out of focus, he could tell that she wasn't listening to a word he said. Not that it was any use, anyway, since they didn't speak English or Zulu. But his looks were something that were his, and his to flaunt, so why not use them if they helped?

The only thing they both understood were the bills they placed in his hand. He remembered that more than he remembered anything else that day except the smiles. Since they couldn't agree on some language, there was little to remember, was often his defense. That day he'd learned the power of money.

Also, he'd realized happily, this was his other thing. His money thing.

For a few months he was very content. Then his finances brought him back down from the clouds. He'd wished for simplicity, something to which he could keep returning, if not something tangible, then a feeling. All his life he'd wanted simplicity. It was appropriate. He saw himself as somewhat of a simpleton.

And then he was back in London all over again.

Dylan's shoulders caved forward as he remembered the constant exhaustion of that life. He wasn't a horrible person. For years he tried playing by the rules. Figured that he could make a living if he only wanted it badly enough. But that had been impossible. Either he had been overly optimistic or he hadn't wanted it badly enough.

He couldn't bring himself to try anything else. Not now that he'd finally found this. Something that turned him from a cheery, unaffected fellow to someone actually happy. And he couldn't go back. He convinced himself he'd fail at everything else, literally fail, not be able to do something and be miserable. He didn't have that willpower. He'd lose all motivation at anything else. He could not do anything else.

Happiness was slippery, like a nice-smelling bar of soap. So Dylan learned to be slippery. Very upfront by nature, he knew he could not tell lies without his face also telling the truth. So he mixed the two. And found, to his discomfort, that telling the mix was even easier for him than telling the full truth had been. But he'd pushed that feeling away. He'd been doing what for him was happiness.

Right?

Right?

The emptiness of his words echoed all around his head, tasting bitter.

Now he was somewhere he didn't know, with people he didn't know who didn't want to know him. He could be dead tomorrow. And that still scared him.

Dylan realized he had been inching forward to the pit that used to be his for the first few days. It felt a bit like he belonged there, since he didn't seem to belong somewhere else.

He didn't know what person he was anymore, doing bad things but on the orders of good people. Once he was back in there, succeeding at something at which he'd failed just last year, he hated that he loved it. He didn't know whether he enjoyed it, even if he loved it. Was it wrong to love doing things that came easily to him, that he was good at? He'd had several girlfriends who did nothing but flatter him. Those had all fallen apart a few months in.

The graduate students fascinated him. He hadn't made it through four years of University, let alone ten or however many they had. He liked it when they talked over his head because they were excited about it, and that was their happiness. It was one of the things, location. Because these girls lived in their minds and didn't give a second glance to the world around them. It barely mattered to them where they ended up. But they were just as dirt poor as he was. Yet listening to them, he absorbed some of their happiness, and the happiness became communal.

Dylan still considered himself lucky. Most other blokes had to learn another skill or trade besides being sociable to make a living. He used it in his friendships, relationships, and working life. Then he used it for a lot of other things. He used it to barter. To make contacts. To get out of trouble with his landlord. He owned his sociability.

Perhaps if he were charming enough he could make everything sufficiently easy, lower the cost of living to something he could actually cover. Never help someone without getting something in return. Rely on favors. Make a scrap of money here and there to make a living. He'd tried that. Again, either he was not charming enough or too naive.

With his feet at the tip of his pit, Dylan froze. Suddenly he realized he had been running in circles all these years. Once the black market opportunity presented itself to him, he didn't think twice except to verify that he wasn't hurting anybody. So he'd taken a car out of Cairo and tried his best with Abdullah. Then, after that happened, he tried his best with Lily. That had worked. Ten lovely minutes when he let her take out her frustration over mummies and curses on him. All thanks, incidentally, to Nancy, who needed that time to look through Lily's things. If nothing else had gone right on that trip, at least that had. Maybe he was still on the rebound from his last girlfriend, the PhD student, and that was all he saw when he looked at Lily, but it had been fun while it lasted. No big expectations. No bitter partings.

Abruptly his thoughts shifted. He almost grimaced before catching himself. Dylan made it a point not to regret his choices. Dwelling on things was wasted time.

But he regretted not talking to her.

If only Jamila hadn't pretended to be crazy. And he almost hated himself for thinking that. It had been his excuse for holding Sonny in a less-than-stellar light. But Sonny's and Nancy's budding relationship had been one of the things to go right on this dig. And then, Sonny was suddenly not as crazy or dangerous or to be avoided as he had been to Dylan before.

Probably a little because it meant that there was nothing between Sonny and Jamila, Dylan admitted sheepishly. That had been his initial conclusion anyway, but there was always that little jealous doubt. Now that doubt was gone, he started hoping again.

He couldn't help but think of her, even though he knew she wouldn't appreciate it. How she'd dealt with threats to her mortality all her life, heard about it all her life, prepared for it all her life, and never batted an eyelash. He had no willpower. She was all willpower.

Maybe Dylan was too attracted to people who weren't interested in him, but there was just something about her. Something that commanded respect. Something that commanded admiration from everyone. Or at least it should have; Jamila was just that strong. A fellow would have to be crazy not to admire her.

Dylan's fingers curled against his sides. He wanted to see her again. At the very least he wanted to get to know her. See if this was just a vagary of his feelings, swinging wild as his life underwent drastic changes. Whether it was just the feeling that he needed her when he really needed to get a grip. Improve all on his own.

But for now he was sure she was the one thing that could make his life less miserable, in any capacity. Even if it was just chatting in a restaurant every so often.

Suddenly Dylan felt the entire escalation all at once, everyone's mistrust of him, the dig site falling apart day by day. He turned on his heel and walked until nobody could see him. He still didn't know what he was doing at the site. Sure, even one and a half years later, he still hated nothing more than an empty stomach. That could've justified it.

But he was lonely here. And Nancy and Sonny, he smiled at the thought of them getting together. He was happy for them, truly, but he feared his own mortality.

* * *

After Claire, José and Beltrán left, Nancy emerged from her hiding place. It had been a little hairy when they did decide to start going down the other side of the hill, her side, after all. But she had just crawled around to the place they'd walked away from.

Seeing Dylan, she stopped short. Deep in thought, he didn't appear to notice her.

Then she remembered that Beltrán would be looking for her at the site and walked back to her digging spot. When his head was turned, though, she leapt out again and doubled back. Dylan still stood where he'd been standing when she passed him a few minutes ago. His back faced her. His arms were crossed, and his fingers dug into the skin near his elbows.

"Dylan," she said.

He moved his head to the side to acknowledge her presence although he didn't say anything.

"When are you going to make another trip to Tekax? I need to know so I can go with you."

"I don't know," he replied, breath rushing into his voice.

Just then Nancy realized that she had not checked in with José about Dylan yet. The thought set her rigid. Maybe he suspected her now.

Or maybe he just assumed that she'd keep tailing Dylan and just talk to him if anything seemed off.

It'd be better not to approach him, she decided. She could always use the excuse that she'd forgotten, that Dylan didn't seem to be doing anything suspicious anyway. She had been following him a lot.

She approached him. "Sun's close to setting already," she said. After the time spent here she'd learned to pay attention to such things. "I'd say about forty-five minutes left of working."

He looked at her. "And why aren't you there?"

"I needed a break."

"I saw your break," he commented. "Congratulations."

Nancy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks."

It was still better for him to be lonely, Dylan thought. Better for everyone else, since apparently he'd almost blown Nancy's cover when Claire saw her in Tekax. It didn't come naturally to him, though. So he found himself talking. Or at the very least responding when others were talking to him.

"So I suppose you didn't come here to chat," said Dylan, although it sounded like he very much hoped she did.

"No," said Nancy, "but things have gone so fast today. Taking a little time won't hurt."

"It will if you get caught slacking off," said Dylan. "Then you'll leave without saying what you wanted to say."

"And you? What about you slacking off?"

"They don't expect me to do that kind of work. Now that I'm doing everything else."

"Yeah. About that. I need pictures of the stone slab pieces," Nancy said. "Now that Claire's at the site I'm not sure I can do it myself without arousing her suspicion."

"Do you know her?"

Nancy shrugged slightly. "Maybe."

"Or what could happen is I could take her aside and talk sales with her."

"Dylan, I need you to take pictures and get them to me."

"I really don't want to do that."

Nancy paused. "You said you'd help us."

"I said I'd help you by infiltrating the black market. Being their agent. I thought finding the proof fell to you."

"Right now I'm not in the position—"

"And I suppose you need me to make copies of the sales records and the provenance records."

"Yes." Nancy looked at him almost apologetically. "And I need a recording of how those records are falsified. A video, or photos, or something."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Dylan snapped. He took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and began to pace.

"Look, I'd do it myself if I could. Believe me, I'd prefer that."

"You don't trust me?" he glowered at her. "I'm really getting sick of that, you know."

"You don't have the same experience. And I have to wonder why you're being so reluctant right—"

"When do we get out of here?" Dylan cut across her. "Really? I'd very much like to know when."

Then she understood. The reluctance was fear. Hypervigilance. Near-complete isolation from the others on his investigating team. Every precaution taken not to be caught. The byproduct of weeks doing something he only barely knew about and doing something else totally unfamiliar to him. Black market activities and snooping.

"Soon, Dylan," she said, placing a hand on his arm.

He looked up sharply. Eyes glinting hard.

"We'll be finished up right about when you get finished up. It'll all happen soon." She looked around to make sure all of the diggers were out of earshot. "I trust you. We both do."

He threw his head back. "Ugh, thank god." He looked back at her with a weak smile.

Nancy was relieved to see it.


	16. Chapter 16

Nancy had made it back to her pit again while they weren't looking. A few of the diggers gave her odd looks as she pit-hopped again, but she felt she could depend on their silence. If Beltrán or José asked specifically about her absence, that was another matter. But they didn't seem suspicious of her at this point.

Then she thought about Claire.

Claire could go either way. She could be either suspicious or harboring lingering resentment. Neither made a particularly good scenario, but given the choice, Nancy would choose resentment for sure. That was more navigable.

The next time Nancy looked up at the three, though, she got a surprise.

All of them were staring at her.

While a bit unsettling, Nancy was sure she had avoided their scrutiny in making it back. They must have started looking just a second ago. As for why she, Nancy, had chosen to look up at that particular moment, she ran through a list of excuses: felt their eyes on her.

Actually, that worked. She didn't need any other excuses.

Quickly she turned her eyes back on the ground and stuck her shovel deep in the ground, ripping out huge chunks of dirt. Not good for any potential finds, Nancy reminded herself. She had to be gentle. Then again, they didn't care much about the artifacts here other than the money they could get from them. The thought only did worse for her as she gnashed her teeth together and swallowed even bigger, deeper pieces of earth.

"Nancy!" Beltrán's voice rang out.

Nancy jumped, the began digging more gently. Maybe they did care after all.

"Come up here, please," he continued.

Unnerved, she staunchly resisted the urge to turn and look at Sonny. She wondered whether he would smile or look worried. She convinced herself of the first, both because that seemed like something he would do under the circumstances and because a smile was more along the lines of what she needed right now.

But Beltrán couldn't catch her looking. She had already almost alerted him to this relationship between workers just by showing up with Sonny a few minutes ago.

Nancy beamed up at them without guile and stepped out of her pit and toward them.

Beltrán and José stepped away almost immediately when she got there. Looking instinctively at José, Nancy was both surprised and dismayed to see that he just turned his eyes away. He had been the most supportive of the team leaders, the one who could keep her above suspicion. Quickly she catalogued the safest people for people on her team. Of those who trusted her, José trusted her the most. Of those who trusted Dylan (apart from those on his own team), Beltrán trusted him the most.

Now that José would not offer his trust to the others, there peeled off one layer of safety for Nancy. Now she could rely only on herself and Sonny. Probably Dylan and Lou. Maybe the others Henrik sent, if they didn't have any ulterior motives in wanting to go. She'd thought the fact would make her glad. She didn't like relying on people on-site, especially for such horrible activities as were going on here, but for a place so dangerous she knew she'd had to take all the help she could get.

José's help had reached the end of the line, it looked like.

"Come on," Claire smirked. "Let's take a walk and talk about some things, Nancy Drew."

Nancy kept her face carefully blank at the use of her name. She nodded curtly and followed Claire, hoping this wouldn't end in her being bound and gagged. The day had already been sufficiently dramatic without her having to worry about that, too.

* * *

Keeping his eyes on them until they disappeared from his view, Sonny resolved to keep her absence at the back of his mind until she came back. Wasn't that the woman Nancy had been worried about blowing her cover?

Around him there lay a thick air of foreboding in the site. The hands of his dig partner shook. When Sonny tried to talk to him and he didn't respond, he got the feeling it was for a different reason this time. He'd probably be afraid of his voice shaking if he even tried.

He began thinking about the clues. More because that's what Nancy would want him to do more than it actually needed to be done. He smiled. He'd figure out at least one of them. She'd tell him he was brilliant. He'd tell her she was brilliant-er. And then they'd discuss their future migrant life together, him tagging along on her cases, her tagging along on his, the rest of the time lying in the grass and looking up at the sky and watching the clouds move and just talking about what made the world turn.

He got so caught up thinking about those that the priority of clues was soon lost to him amidst the glow. For one thing, his mother could finally stop harping on him to go back to school now that he was headed in the direction of Option B, settling down with a nice girl. Not that settling down with a nice girl would have to keep him from returning to school necessarily. In fact, he was sure that'd be next on his mother's agenda.

Maybe he didn't need to go back to school after all. Maybe things were fine just the way they were.

Maybe things were _great_ just the way they were.

After a few revolutions around Venus he got himself to slow down. He had to think about his future before he considered _theirs_ , and how much of a _theirs_ was there, anyway, one hour after a pair of kisses?

Smile growing, he decided to leave that be for now.

Once upon a time he might've gotten his ducks in a row, gotten his PhD before joining S.P.I.E.D. He hadn't even started thinking that until a few weeks ago. Then he'd tried to fit in a plan with all of the other things in his head, bringing on someone else to replace him for the two or three years it would take to rework his thesis and finish his coursework. But S.P.I.E.D. was too small as it was. Besides, Sonny knew himself. There was always the fact that after finishing school—or even before finishing it—he'd go off on a tangent and decide he'd try to get a job at NASA—that is, another job at NASA—and then from there go on another tangent and so on and so forth until he forgot about S.P.I.E.D. So he could quit just about as much as he could deny the existence of the Annunaki.

His thoughts turned to the broader spectrum.

He'd been following Jin's orders, going out and investigating these locations, for a while now, and he'd been thinking parallel to Jin's thoughts and theories starting when he was a kid. Sometimes the question of just how much of his life was his own flashed in his mind. Just as soon he felt guilty and pushed the matter aside. But try as he might, he could never forget what he felt for the few moments he was convinced that the beacon wasn't in New Zealand, the sensation of his identity slipping away from him. The deep-seated frustration of having complete belief in someone and nothing to show for it. He never knew he'd felt that until then, and he spent a lot of time thinking about it afterward, his own strange harsh words, " _There's nothing here, Jin!_ " reverberating painfully in his head.

He'd had to think about it then. Think about how much of this was his life. Whether this was really what he wanted or whether he just wanted the world to be okay.

The belief had come quickly to him once he found one of the locations in the comics. It had been belief in the form of infatuation, love at first sight, all-nighters in his dorm spent inhaling the ideas and musty yellow scent of books, five-hour-long conversations with his grandfather meant to make up for lost time, two-hour-long conversations with his mother who got upset when he forgot to call, millennia worth world history materializing in his head when they came back to check up on their investment or take the most steadfast cows and believers on a ride to their home planet. That last one was more something he wanted than something he believed. And the cattle mutilations charge was about as ludicrous as they came. There had been accounts of humans being experimented on and returned alive, so it made no sense that the cows would be returned dead, not if they had the means to put them back alive and no reason to kill them. That was just projected human anthropocentrism.

Sonny scoffed and stuck his shovel far into the ground. Seriously, cattle mutilations? Couldn't blame that one on the aliens, at least not the ones he knew. Probably just some creepy cults who were good at cutting animals or people up.

He felt almost as strongly about that as he did about constellations. Jamila had not appreciated his constellations pamphlet. She didn't mind so much how forceful it was as much as she hated for her usual reason that it didn't make sense. Well, it wasn't like he could just sit down and write a pamphlet and stay on topic the whole time. Both of his books had been heavily edited. But Sonny had pushed for the pamphlet. He thought it was hilarious and informative, so they published it.

Realizing that he had gotten off-track, Sonny started thinking about who he was again, who he was _really_ , and what he wanted. Most days he knew. But today and days like the one in New Zealand, he thought he caught a glimpse of some other factors. How much his own life did he have to be living to be considered alive? How many of his ideas hadn't been building on ideas already out there? He'd wanted to think his thesis was original, too wide for the narrow margins of the department, that that was why it had been rejected by the committee and he had had to leave with a Masters.

But if it weren't for Jin, he wouldn't have ever had those ideas. So maybe they weren't so original after all. He might've subconsciously been doing the Confucian thing, honoring his family by imitating them.

He shook his head. Most days he didn't feel like that. But some, like today, he gauged the ownness of his life by how easy it was to break free. How few allegiances he had to other people.

These were the concerns of his mother, who didn't want her father's life for him. She actually preferred Sonny's job-hopping lifestyle, though not by much. Chin-Sun Joon made him promise that he wouldn't abandon her like Jin did. She always spoiled him, protected him, clung to him a little, especially since the accident. Even though his choices sometimes exasperated her, she never stopped supporting him. And because she supported him she allowed him to try to smooth things over between her and Jin. Most of the time it worked out well. Sonny felt especially triumphant the times he got her to call him.

And as for the problem of his life being tied too much to Jin's, Sonny didn't have to think about that most of the time. Well, he didn't think he had to, but Jamila and his mother had ganged up on him. There had been no way out. He still decided that Jin's mission was his calling, to Jamila's satisfaction and his mother's dismay. Jamila had simply told him that there were other paths to a better world and that he, still being young, should make sure he was sure about his pursuits. His mother had several reasons, a little bit that she wanted a better, more fun life for him at his young age, a little bit that she wanted her son to be a little more normal, and a little bit that she, like all mothers, feared he'd never call again.

Maybe they were right to make him think about it. Usually Sonny was preoccupied with the world around him and the universe beyond that, but lately he wondered about himself. He didn't tell anyone about those worries, though, not even Jamila. And Jamila, being Jamila, didn't ask. As long as his ideas weren't too dangerous, she seemed to think that they were better left alone. And when they were dangerous—Sonny grinned wryly—let the lecturing commence. Somehow Nancy had guessed, though. She had seen a flash of uncertainty over what he believed. She had been around for his little outburst, after all.

Out of the blue, Sonny's phone started to ring.

Weird. Making sure that Beltrán and José weren't around, he walked behind one of the hills and pulled his phone from his pocket.

Jamila.

He frowned and took the call. She wasn't supposed to call him unless it was important. And, knowing Jamila, this was important.

"Sonny?" she said.

She sounded odd. He picked up on that right away. There was a firmness and rigidity in her tone beyond what was normally there, as if she was overcompensating for some worry. So Sonny didn't make the point that she wasn't supposed to call him unless it was important. One, because he enjoyed talking to her, and two, because he knew immediately that this fell under important.

But he couldn't deal with it all just now, didn't want to deal with whatever problem she called about. He knew eventually he'd have to, but for now he cut into the silence. "Can I talk?" he asked her. "Just for a few minutes?"

"Of course," said Jamila. She sounded relieved, too. "I'm just worried about your having to leave abruptly—"

"The diplomats? We already talked about that when you called me. Don't worry about that," Sonny told her. He rushed into all of his thoughts head-on, jumping back to some points when he realized he had skimmed over them. And maybe he sounded pretty crazy just going into his head that didn't make sense to other people. Well, it had started making sense to Nancy. That was a consolation. A warm feeling filled his chest in anticipation of that process, getting to know her, her getting to know him, finally being around someone who understood him and supported him, him letting her know that she didn't have to be a hero all the time and strive towards omniscience.

Quickly Sonny returned to the conversation at hand. He knew that Jamila trusted him. She'd let him have his time. She wouldn't cut him off because she couldn't stand it when he or anybody else cut her off. Not that Sonny meant to be rude. He just sometimes forgot other people were talking when a brilliant idea occurred to him. Great, he thought, forcing himself to slow down. Now he was getting off track again and at the worst possible time. After he stopped talking to work on refocusing his thoughts, he continued until he had exhausted everything.

Jamila didn't speak for several seconds after he finished. "Wow," she said.

"Yeah. A lot to chew on, right? Too much in my head for even me to handle."

"Don't think about that right now. You've got other problems."

"Like, at the site?" He chuckled. "Yeah. I know."

She sighed.

Several more seconds passed. He didn't want to go into whatever this was. Neither did she. He could tell. "Jamila, what's wrong?" he asked finally.

"I thought for hours about this. I wouldn't be telling you if it weren't absolutely necessary."

"What is it?" he asked, annoyed, before she could launch into a prologue.

"I hate making you think about this right now. But you've—you've got to get out of there."

"I know, and we're close," he assured.

"For one thing, it's dangerous," Jamila continued. "Henrik's told me several times now about those diplomats who are coming to the location to conduct their own investigations. He kept calling until I answered. Now he wants to remind you your cover will be blown if you stay. You and Nancy need to get out before they arrive, or they'll kill you."

Sonny sensed she had more to say. He waited. He found to his surprise that he wasn't holding himself back from speaking. Whatever it was that she was going to say next, he didn't want to hear it. He never wanted to hear it.

"For another…" she began, then trailed off.

He hoped his phone would lose signal. He wanted to run to a place where it would cut out for sure but felt his feet rooted to the ground.

"It's finally happening," she said, that same firm, grim tone to her voice. "Jin is dying."


	17. Chapter 17

Even after Nancy walked off with Claire, she didn't waste a moment on despair. It was habit, now that she was on survival mode. Calm and alert. Precise concentration.

Ready for anything.

But in this case there wasn't much she could do until she heard what Claire wanted to say.

Then the momentary gap in concentration was filled. In just a blink all the losses in her life came rushing back to her, but her mind first went to the most recent for followup.

Ned.

Nancy remembered everything about that day without meaning to. In truth, she'd rather she didn't.

She remembered how infuriatingly nice he looked. His hair all combed and him dressed up in a sweater vest. Probably to try to soften the blow.

He shouldn't have bothered.

_"I really, really care about you, Nancy; I always have. I just don't…" Ned trailed off. "I tried to be the best boyfriend I could be. I told myself that would be enough for you, for us. For a while, this was perfect. We were perfect. Now I know I have to tell you the truth." He sighed. "I guess I was hoping that I'd never have to tell you and that we could just do this indefinitely. Now that there's somebody else, though—"_

_"Ned, how many times do I have to tell you?" Nancy's voice rose. "There is no one else!"_

_"Please let me finish. There's always been a back-up plan for you, but now there's a viable back-up plan. And I wanted to wait for that. I always knew it was easiest, to be with you, and a lot of times the easiest way is the best way. Because of the person you've made me into, you will always be special to me." Ned bit his lip. "Sorry. I'm trying not to make this cliché. As you can see, I'm failing. Anyway, you're perfect for anyone, smart, sweet, but you can probably tell that I'm probably not… into you?"_

Nancy started to deny this, then she remembered all the times Ned had been such a perfect gentleman... too much of a perfect gentleman. Everything always chaste.

_"You'd be away all of the time; I knew that," Ned continued. "I knew that would make things for me less stressful. And before you say that I was using you, that's not why I dated you. That was just an added convenience, I guess. But I was closer with you than I was with anybody else, and you just got me. And good relationships are about understanding one another, you know? I thought you'd be a good companion, and I tried to be the same to you."_

She should have seen the damn signs.

_"You made me a promise!" Nancy's voice rose. "Not to protect me from myself! If you tell me something like this, I can take it, okay? I don't need to be coddled. I never did. Now, thanks to you, we've wasted the past four years."_

_"No!" Ned broke in. "Don't think of it that way."_

_"Why not? You never loved me!"_

_"I do love you Nancy, just not in the way that somebody else could love you, and not in the way that I could love someone else. But you have taught me so much about what's important. You have accomplished so much more in the way of justice than most people I know. The stuff you've done, and the stuff you devote yourself to, we usually only hear about from idealists, promoting these values that just can't be upheld by human action. You are truly amazing. I've always felt that, I still feel that, I'm so proud of you, and I love you. But I can't be what you want me to be. I'm never going to be able to look at you the way you want me to. With you, I'm always just going to be the nice guy, and I know you want more than that… and you deserve more than that."_

_"But Ned, I don't need any more than that," Nancy said sharply. "Nobody ever needs more than the nice guy. I've always been okay with that."_

_"No, Nancy, I mean…" he sighed. "I'm not into you. I'd never be pushing for that."_

She knew the "that" to which he referred, but she'd always assumed that he just wasn't ready. Besides, most people in her town waited. It was nothing unusual.

_He looked at her cold, blank face. "Do I really have to say it?"_

_"Please," she replied frostily._

_"I'm gay."_

Even sitting there with Claire staring her down she remembered it. Even now it didn't make sense to her. She never saw it coming.

Gay.

Well, it made a little sense.

No human male seemed to run away from Deirdre and Minkie as fast as Ned did.

She wanted to laugh at herself. She should've seen it coming. And compared to the process of learning that her mother was never coming back, this was nothing. Nothing.

_ Carson made his way up to Nancy's room, pausing before her door. Breaths of faint piano chords wafted out to his ears. He almost instantaneously recognized the song and winced as the second verse began. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to raise his hand and knock, as his conscience forced him to listen to every word. _

_"'Father, you left me but I never left you/I needed you, you didn't need me./So I, I just got to tell you/Goodbye, goodbye…'"_

_He closed his eyes and leaned his head forward until it rested on the door, so slowly that it didn't make a sound when he had done so. Nancy had listened to this song quite often after Kate died. That interest had petered out after a while, and it had been months since he had heard her playing it. He and Kate had introduced Nancy to the Beatles early on. She had found the songs of John Lennon's darker solo career on her own._

_Just then Carson paused for a second, grateful for the second's silence, trying to picture behind the door the way things used to be. Nancy three years old, Kate giving her little puzzles to solve. All of them in the room together at the same time for a change, after Kate promised she wouldn't go back to Scotland._

_The day he thought he'd never have to worry again._

_Carson's eyes unclouded. He had a plane to catch. He couldn't dawdle. "Nancy?" He knocked. "Can I come in?"_

_"No." She said right away._

_Holding back a sigh, Carson wondered what he had been hoping for. Of course she was going to say no. Only seven months since her mother died, and now…_

_"I've got a plane to catch in an hour. I'd really like to talk to you."_

_For a few seconds, nothing. Then, there was a barely audible, "Fine."_

_Carson walked in. Nancy was lying face-down on her bed, head propped up on one of her hands. Her room was immaculate to the point where it looked as if it wasn't lived in. The desk was completely cleared—no pictures, no pencils, no papers with drawn unicorns—and no books were left out on the floor or on her bed. He walked to the side of her bed and sat._

_He didn't say anything for a little while, just gazed out of Nancy's window over her desk while she stared at the ceiling. But he hadn't been lying about his flight time, so he swallowed and spoke. "Believe me, there's nothing I'd rather do than stay here with you, but I have to go."_

_"Why do you have to go, Dad?" Nancy mumbled over her pillow, frowning._

_Carson's eyes narrowed as he thought. Whatever the best way was of explaining this to a ten-year-old kid, it evaded him. It was an unusual situation, though. Having to tell her wasn't fair, not to him and not to her, given what the family had been through. "You know how a lot of people get away with things they shouldn't get away with?"_

_"Like the guy who caused Mom's accident." Her voice darkened._

_"Yeah, exactly like that." Carson stroked her hair. "Sometimes those people are caught. But there are some people who still want them to get away with it."_

_"Why?" Nancy dragged the word out plaintively._

_"Sometimes they're friends. Or sometimes they just want money. That always makes it harder for people to hold them responsible for their actions and make sure they don't do anything bad again. And I'm—" Carson sighed. "I'm trying to do that. Make sure bad things don't happen again."_

_Nancy's head dropped into the pillow. "Why do you have to go to the other side of the world for that?" she asked, voice muffled._

_"Because bad things don't just happen here. They happen everywhere."_

_"But enough bad things happen here." She said sharply. "Why not focus on here?"_

_"I'd love to do that, kiddo, but it wouldn't be right." He retracted his hand and absently tapped his knee. "When someone comes to me needing my help, should I turn him down just because he isn't close by?"_

_Nancy flipped on her side, facing the opposite wall. "What about me? What if I need your help?"_

_Carson's jaw tightened in despair. He knew this day would be coming ever since Kate left. He had been lucky enough to get local cases for a few months, which had allowed him to spend precious time with Nancy. But he knew, always knew, that eventually he would have to leave again… and, sure enough, for this one he had to do some research in Guerrero. "I want to make the world better, easier." He, too, looked at the opposite wall. "For you."_

_Nancy didn't reply._

_"I'm still able to help you from far away. And you'll know that I'm helping you, as long as you remember everything we talked about after your mom—" his voice caught. "It's not fair, I know. But please, please understand that things can't always be the way we want them. I'll always do my best to keep you happy because I love you more than anything in the world." He blinked. "And I'll be back as soon as possible, but for now I have to go. Hannah will take good care of you."_

_The song started over. Neither spoke, but Carson knew his daughter was listening. Every second she wasn't speaking, she was listening._

_"'Mother, you had me but I never had you/I wanted you, you didn't want me/So I, I just got to tell you/Goodbye, goodbye…'"_

* * *

Most times Sonny didn't feel pressure to offer timely responses in conversation. This time he wasn't even sure how long it had been since he'd said anything. He wanted to laugh at himself. Nearly a quarter of a century spent living on earth, this tough world made tougher by its (arguably) most sentient inhabitants, and the only death he'd been unfortunate enough to deal with was the possibility of his own.

What had his mom thought when she almost lost him?

_ A young Korean woman with careworn features stood with her hands clasped in front of her, rotting away in a waiting room in Rhode Island Hospital. She distrusted big hospitals like these; all the advanced technology ostensibly made for prompt treatment, but she had been here twiddling her thumbs for hours while they saw to everybody else first just because she had to drive in from Cranston because she couldn't afford to live in Providence and they were all richer than she, thousands of patients who weren't nearly as sick as her son. _

_Footsteps._

_She turned._

_A blond man in scrubs approached her quickly. "Mrs. Joon? I'm Dr. Miller." The hassled doctor shook her hand. "I'm afraid we're going to have to take your son into surgery. It's imperative that we operate right away; the only reason we've waited this long was to verify the diagnosis." He took her arm and walked over to Seung's room. "They're transferring him right now."_

_Her expression didn't change, although she paled. "And what exactly is the diagnosis?"_

_"Tertiary peritoneal infection."_

_"Meaning?" She pressed the nail of one thumb down with her other._

_"Two months ago we had treated Seung Joon for a peritoneal infection following an automobile accident in which he apparently received abdominal trauma, as I'm sure you recall." He looked over at her._

_She nodded stiffly._

_"It appears he's developed complications since then, complications that necessitated a visit to the emergency room and, now, to surgery."_

_Her eyes locked on a gurney outside of Seung's room. She hesitated, waiting for some sign that the sheet-devoured figure lying there was hers. She hadn't realized how thin and pale he was getting from all the bedrest._

_When the tiny head rose, revealing dark, unruly, hair, she strode over to his side._

_"We have to operate quickly," Dr. Miller repeated. "I'll have someone take you to the waiting room."_

_"Mom?" Seung coughed. "Where's Grandpa?"_

_Immediately Mrs. Joon lifted a hand to her son's brow. "Don't worry about him," she said more sharply than she'd intended. She wanted nothing to do with her father, but she couldn't let Seung know that. It would break his heart. And so often she feared consequences more dire than hurt feelings; for all she knew, Seung was so delicate that anything would send him into complications that no one could fix._

_"Am I going to wake up this time?"_

_Slowly she looked down at Seung and opened her mouth to speak._

_Dr. Miller held his arm in front of her as he took both corners of the end of the gurney and pushed. "Nurse!" he called, nodding sharply to Mrs. Joon._

_Furiously she blinked as Dr. Miller continued to pushed the gurney through a large set of double doors, sending her an uneven smile before he, too, disappeared._

_And in the case that this was something they couldn't fix anyway, he needed to be as happy as possible for as long as possible._

_"Here," the nurse said kindly as she led her to her second waiting room that day._

_Mrs. Joon gritted her teeth. She needed neither the doctor's smile nor the nurse's kind words. All that was important in this world and all its trials was the truth._

_A few minutes later, a little old man walked down the hallway, his head turning at every door and window and picture on the wall. He brightened when he saw a nurse heading his way. When she was about to pass, he cleared his throat. "I need to see a patient…" he began._

_Mrs. Joon's eyes leapt up._

_"Are you a relative?"_

_"Yes, I'm his grandfather…Seung Joon's grandfather. My name is Seung Soo Jin."_

_"Seung Joon?" The nurse looked up. "I think they took him into surgery a few minutes ago."_

_"Surgery? My daughter said he was in the ER!"_

_"Twenty minutes ago," Mrs. Joon cut in. She grabbed the shorter man's arm and led him out of the hall and into a seat._

_"Someone will come and get you when he's out," the nurse said after them before continuing on her way._

_"Where were you?" Mrs. Joon asked coldly, fixing her gaze on a water dispenser across the room._

_Jin looked down. His whole stature seemed to shrink. "Stuck in traffic."_

_"Traffic? Hah!" She barked. "From Bristol?"_

_"I'm sorry. When I see him I'll apologize to him, too."_

_"He's very weak." Her voice hardened. "He could die."_

_"He's one of a strong family. He'll pull through."_

_"I wish I knew that." She continued to stare. "Children are so fragile. Hurt so easily." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jin tilt his head, as he always did when he was thinking. As he always had when he was around those stupid alien leads—never around her._

_"Once long ago I learned that lesson," he began slowly. "I would have given anything to keep you from learning it."_

_"Even if it meant my forgiveness?" she looked over at him._

_After a second Jin turned and met her gaze._

_"It's so easy to slip as a parent," Mrs. Joon murmured. "So easy to hurt your child." Her eyes froze. "By just getting into the car and driving angrily, stupidly. Baba, what do you do when it's your child?"_

_"You hope your child sees that you're just a bigger, scareder version of her. And hope for both of you that she forgives you." He paused. "Even when her foolish old father doesn't deserve it."_

_Mrs. Joon took his smaller hand in hers. They waited._

_They waited as the waiting room emptied one by one. They waited as the hall quietened, as the passing voices and footsteps slowed in frequency, and as all sounds died._

_Six hours had gone. It was 3 A.M. before Dr. Miller returned, mouth drooping at least an inch lower from exhaustion. "We'll need to monitor his reaction to the surgery in Intensive Care."_

_"How long is a while?" Mrs. Joon snapped._

_"It depends, but most likely two to three weeks."_

_"Where is he now?" Jin asked._

_Mrs. Joon looked sideways at him. She hadn't known he was awake._

_"Room 314."_

_When they arrived, Mrs. Joon, disoriented from the long wait, expected her son to be sleeping at this late hour. Seung's eyelids fluttered blearily, like a newborn lamb's. "Where were you, Grandpa?" His voice was small._

_"I was here," Jin replied, touching Seung's forehead._

_After much effort, Seung's lips turned upwards._

_How could he be so innocent and yet so worldly and knowing at ten? Mrs. Joon turned away, blinking again._


	18. Chapter 18

"Sonny?" prompted Jamila. "I know silence is to be expected, but… Sonny? Are you there?"

"I'm here," he replied hoarsely.

"Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"Yeah." He sat down on the grass.

"Again, I'm so, so sorry to have to be telling you this now."

"It's okay, Jamila. It's not like you can help it."

"I'm sorry it's happening at all," she continued after a pause to determine if he was finished speaking. For another second she stopped, torn. "I'd come down if it would do any good, but someone has to be here."

"I should probably call Mom, shouldn't I?" He asked, feeling suddenly tired.

"She…" Jamila paused, apparently unsure if she should continue.

"What?" Sonny snapped. He didn't mean to sound rude, but… this should not have been made harder than it already was.

"She isn't here," she admitted quietly. "I called her, but there wasn't much of anything I could do except say that Jin wanted her there."

"Why are you talking about him in the past tense?" Sonny asked quickly, voice rising in unsettlement. "Is he—?"

"No," Jamila quickly assured. "But he isn't… he's been in and out. Right now, he isn't conscious."

"Shit," Sonny rubbed a hand over his face.

"It's so sudden. You knew he's terminal. He has been. But he's outlasted all the estimates, so none of us really knew when he'd finally start going—"

"Why isn't she there?" Sonny asked, cutting her off. "Is she really that selfish?"

"No. She doesn't know how she feels. She didn't admit that over the phone, but I could tell. A lot of her speech was halting."

"Then what the hell is she waiting for?"

"She's waiting for you."

He inhaled sharply.

"You need to call her when we're done talking. She'll listen to you. She knows how much he means to you. She'll go after talking to you."

"I don't know if I can get out of this. I mean, I know I have to get out of there before the diplomats come and blow our cover and everything goes to shit, but even that'll be too late, won't it?"

Jamila didn't speak.

"I'll try," he added quickly, suddenly determined not to hear her response. "I'll try really hard. But the only thing I might be able to do is wrap all this up really fast. And it's not a matter of inconvenience. It's a matter of survival. I think they might not let me leave while I'm working here. But even if they don't let me leave I can still find a way—"

"Sonny," Jamila said. "I know. Jin wouldn't want you to leave right now. You can only do what you can."

"Mom won't forgive me if I don't come back. But," he closed his eyes. "But I don't know if I can."

"Chin-Sun thinks you hung the moon. She doesn't say it, but you know how she feels about you. She calls me when you don't call her. She worries constantly. You could never let her down."

"But this is Jin for her all over again," Sonny said, his voice beginning to waver. "He was absent for all the major things. And she's going to think the same thing about me. And I deserve it."

"No you don't, Sonny. She loves you. Jin loves you. They both understand."

"But I was supposed to have a conversation with Jin," Sonny continued, "one last one. He said he had things to tell me in person in a letter last summer, the one that sent me to New Zealand. He never went into those when I joined him in Norway. He said the time wasn't right. I think he thought he was going to live or something. But now the time is right and I'm not there—"

"Sonny," Jamila barked. "Listen to me. That's still possible. As I said, he's in and out. And his out periods aren't longer than his in ones. Don't fall apart just yet."

"The summer solstice still?" Sonny asked, a tiny ray of hope entering his voice.

"Yes." He could hear her smile. "The summer solstice."

Sonny sighed, trying to keep his breath from hitching as he did so. "I really, really, really hope I can get back in time."

"Sounds like you doubt you can."

"Yes," he said simply, no longer trusting himself to be able to speak in longer sentences.

"Do you not have faith that you will make it back in time?"

"No," he said. "It turns out the wrong way, doesn't it?"

"And then it turns out the right way. That's what you always tell me."

"So if the chips are down, it isn't the end?" he scoffed. "No. This is it. This is the end. And he's there, and I'm here."

"You know how willful Jin is. He will find a way to talk to you. His faith always is. And if it comes to a phone call, I will arrange that."

Sonny took a few deep breaths, waiting for some courage to burst out of nowhere for him to ask the next question. "How long does he have?"

"I don't know. The doctors say anywhere from tomorrow to next week."

His head fell to his chest.

"Knowing Jin, it won't be tomorrow. And I don't think it'll be the day after that."

"But I have to hurry."

"You have to do things the way they're meant to be done," Jamila replied calmly. "That's all you can do. Follow the course of events and adapt accordingly. And things will happen the way they happen."

Sonny ground his teeth until his temples became sore. "Who said that? Patrick? That sounds like a Patrick quote."

"I know it sounds wrong right now, but you have got to keep thinking that to yourself. Otherwise how are you going to get through the next few days?" She paused. "Jin said it, by the way. There are things that happen outside of your control. It's hard to believe sometimes."

"I know it's hard to believe." He stepped back, arching his back and stretching his head upwards. "Fate's kind of stupid when you think about it. A person's center. If it were real I wouldn't have had all those stupid jobs trying to find out what my purpose was."

"I know that one was kind of hard for you to swallow. I believe you've made your own life, and I believe you believe that, too."

Sonny paused, smiling.

"And it's okay. That's not going in the pamphlet."

"How is it okay to keep lying the way we do?"

"First of all, you're barely lying," Jamila said right away. "You believe most of it. Second of all, everybody needs this. Look what we're doing to the world. To ourselves." Then she paused. "I want you to listen to me about something."

"That's never good," he joked quietly.

"How do you feel about taking some time off?"

"No," he barked.

For a second Jamila was silent. He could almost hear her blink. "You don't have to devote your life to this before taking the time to figure out who you are."

"I know who I am. I've always known who I am."

"You're still young. There may be some things you missed."

"Is this about you thinking I'm crazy? Because I'm telling you, I'm not going to change."

"Please. I resigned myself to your certifiability years ago. You know what this is really about."

"I do?" Sonny asked, growing heated. "Because you're the one who sounds crazy right now."

"You've been following Jin's orders and his work almost all your life."

"And what would he think if I abandoned his work?"

"He wants you to be happy. Sitting and holding the hand of a boy nearly dead of peritonitis, he'd want nothing else. He told you all those stories to make you happy."

Sonny tried not to remember and pushed forward in the argument. "Who will take over when I'm gone?"

"I will."

"You believe in literally nothing we teach."

"But I believe in what you stand for."

"No," he said flatly. "I'm not going to let you spend the next few years on something you don't believe in. It's a waste for you."

"So you are thinking about finishing school," Jamila said softly. "I knew it."

A few seconds passed before Sonny spoke. "A few years could mean anything," he said.

"Maybe," she said. "But it wouldn't be a waste for me."

"You don't want to be the head of S.P.I.E.D."

"Why don't I?"

"Let me spell it out for you." Sonny lowered his voice, eyes spinning around the lone hills. "You don't believe in aliens."

"Well that's rather discriminatory, isn't it?" Jamila replied. "I don't see anything about people needing to believe in order to be members or to take leadership roles. And I've gone over all of the paperwork."

"Yes, you'd be a better leader than I would," said Sonny. "You're better for that stuff. But it won't be good for you. You have your own life."

"What life?" Jamila scoffed. "You know my life and that to which it was devoted. I didn't plan on much of anything afterward except for surviving. Do you honestly think I have everything figured out?"

Sonny stopped short at this.

Maybe this was something she needed.

Still… "There are so many better fits for you in terms of your life values," he said. "Honestly you'd be settling if you took head of S.P.I.E.D. for a few years. I don't see you happy doing it."

"Are there better fits?" Jamila asked. "I don't see them."

"That's because you have to, you know, explore. Go out and find them."

"I'm perfectly happy where I am right now."

"No, you're perfectly stubborn where you are right now. You think you're happy now, but there are a million different things you could try that would make you happier. I'm not telling you this to make you mad. I'm telling you this as your friend."

"Well, too bad, I'm mad," her voice rose. "You are acting like a child."

"And you're acting like my mother," said Sonny, beginning to grow impatient.

"Are you going to keep me from it? I will fight for the position."

Sonny believed it. What he didn't know was why. So he asked.

"I want to grow," she said.

"So you are thinking about that resumé."

She began to litter the conversation with all sorts of excuses, but he just grinned.

"You've got the job," he continued, "on one condition. After I come back, you leave."

Silence. "You don't want me there?" she asked.

"You know the position is open for you anytime you want to take it, if you really want to come back. And let's face it. As long as no one asks what the acronym stands for, head of S.P.I.E.D. looks pretty good on a resume."

"Fine," Jamila agreed reluctantly. "I'll take at least one odd job afterwards."

"It has to be a real job. One that needs qualifications. Not the kind I kept taking."

"Okay. I can agree to that."

"Tell me honestly, would it make you happy?"

"Yes," she said with exasperation.

They smiled into the silence that followed. In his head Sonny thanked her for bringing in such a painful topic so smoothly, determining how the dynamic of S.P.I.E.D. would change and shift with Jin's passing. It did have to change, at least certain things. They both knew it. While Sonny didn't have to go back to school, it would make things better in the long run. And Jamila would do a better job of running S.P.I.E.D.; of that he was certain.

And it was only then, in the relief, that he started to cry.

Silence sat thick on the other end of the line. This wasn't something Jamila was comfortable with. She did not like dealing with emotions.

Then the grief snuck back up on him before he could put up a guard against it, and he cried harder, lowering his head to his knees and tugging at his ankles.

"What should I do?" Jamila asked him. "What should I say?"

"Everything's going to be all right, right?"

"Of course," she said.

Then nothing after that. He continued to cry.

"I'm so sorry," Jamila said. "I don't know what to do."

"It's all right," he said, voice trembling as he laughed a little. "I don't, either." Ever since being diagnosed right before giving Sonny orders to bring everyone together in New Zealand, Jin had been worried about his time running out. Sonny stayed with him as much as he could. Right before this trip, Jin had gotten sick. They all thought it was a cold. It had been so long since the doctor had given his estimate that they'd happily forgotten. It had added to the illusion that time could be bought. That time was never stolen, even just by ignoring it in all of the seconds that slipped by.

"I can't do anything for you over the phone," said Jamila, sounding frustrated with herself. "Go find Nancy."

"Why Nancy?" he sniffled.

"What do you mean, why Nancy? Don't be stupid. You know what I'm talking about."

Sonny wiped his eyes then looked around. running his hand through his hair. "She isn't here right now."

"What do you mean she isn't here right now?"

"This other woman came to the site and dragged her off to talk."

Jamila didn't speak for a little while. When she did, she sounded worried. "That might need some looking into," she said.

"Yeah," Sonny laughed nervously. "I agree."

"She's capable. She can take care of herself. Don't worry too much."

"But an extra hand always helps, you know?" Sonny said, craning his neck to peer through the side of the hill that hid him. "Don't worry. I'm keeping an eye out for her."

"I'm not worried in the least. Between you and her, you've got this site completely covered."

"Glad somebody thinks so." He sighed again. "I don't know what I'm going to do without Grandpa Jin."

"Try not to think about that just yet. Focus on the site. He's in there with you." She began talking more quickly. "You've got that time pressure, but you've also got the diplomats and the dig overseers. That should ensure you get out of there soon. Find Nancy. I have to go. Be careful."

The line clicked as she hung up.

Sonny ran his hand over his face one more time, took several shuddering breaths, and stood. He walked out from behind the hill, first checking for Beltrán and José. Both were gone. If they kept leaving like this, he thought, the whole site would fall apart. This was starting to look like the beginning of the end, he noted hopefully. Although, he frowned, Nancy was still nowhere in sight.


	19. Chapter 19

"So, Nancy Drew." Claire looked over at her with a wrinkled nose and frosty smile. "Nancy Drew, Nancy Drew, Nancy Drew."

"Did you want to talk to me?" Nancy asked levelly. "Is my work unsatisfactory somehow?"

Claire threw her head back and laughed. "You've never done anything unsatisfactory in your life. But still, that's always what you wanted to know. Always trying to please everyone else."

Nancy maintained a mildly inquisitive stare.

"That's what we always have to do," Claire continued, still laughing. "Otherwise they pay no attention to us. Or they say we're stupid. We always have to be agreeable. Positive. Demure." She looked up at Nancy with a lingering grin. "Maybe I quit being an archaeology student. Maybe I quit college completely after a few years at good old Illinois State University. Maybe you came away with the artifact last time. But look at you. You're still digging and I'm on top. I've seen and will see more artifacts than you'll come across and I get to decide what to do with them. And in a few years years, you'll still be digging away, moving from site to site because you could never make it at a college so you just have to take what you've got. And eventually you'll be just as unhappy as the rest of us."

She tried to ignore that jab about college, pushed aside how surprisingly accurate it was amidst the baselessness of the rest of it. Stay cool, Nancy. Stay cool.

"And now you're looking at me. You're jealous of me. You're finally jealous of _me_. You finally have to do what _I_ say, which means you have to listen to me. They all do. And maybe you wish you had what I do now, but it's too late. I got to it first."

Anger thawed through Nancy's distant sympathy. But Claire was just so trapped in her own head she couldn't see any motives that weren't hers. She'd been right about Nancy and college, though, she thought bitterly. That always was the one thing she regretted, the thing she couldn't do. Nancy wanted to tell her off right then and there on account of the sore point, but she knew she'd misspoken to suspects before, revealing too much, more of what she knew than she intended, blowing her cover. So Nancy held back. She held the hands of her parents like she had so many years before. She knew herself to be independent, but she'd fallen back on their teachings more times than she could count. Trust yourself, her mother's words echoed in her mind in that still-familiar deep voice. And she missed her. So, so much still.

"Why did you call me here?" Nancy asked.

"They never listened to me. They told me I was wrong. I see it in your face now; you're thinking I'm wrong," Claire said, shearing through another layer of disgust and her face distorted, looking almost inhuman. "But those in power are never wrong. Read any history book. The victors always wrote the history books. And I'm successful. I'm writing my own history now. And then I get to do with the history what I please. That is complete control, Nancy. These pieces don't have to go to museums. They don't go to museums. They only leave my hand when they're going where I want them to go."

Again Nancy waited.

"By all means say something," said Claire. "You were always so quiet back then. 'I won't stay if I'm a trouble,' you said. You were a trouble. I said so. And no one listened. And you didn't speak up, either."

Silence.

"But you have more to say. I could always tell you always have more to say. You were always so quiet, so hypocritically quiet when your opinions were loud. You know what I'm talking about. The conscientiousness. The fact that you thought you knew what was acceptable and unacceptable when you haven't lived."

"What am I supposed to take away from this?" Nancy asked.

Claire's scowl deepened even further, adding thirty years and another species to her appearance. She was not getting the reaction she'd wanted apparently. That was transparent enough to Nancy. "I know your types. You have loud opinions and then don't speak up on them or don't act on them. The minute someone wants you to act based on the good person you think you are, you don't." Her eyes held scalding malice. "Or do you?"

Nancy fought the inclination to be alarmed. It sounded like suspicion. Still, it might not have been. And everything in Claire's behavior up to this point indicated that she was going for a reaction more than anything else.

"You aren't as stupid and ignorant as you pretend you are. You know what we're doing here. You're here to stop it."

Nancy's eyes hardened. She did not lower them.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Claire's face paled and the lines in it sharpened so she eventually looked positively skullish.

"Or," Claire stretched the skin of her lips all back to show her teeth and gums, "you're here because you've finally given up. Does Nancy Drew give up? She didn't when I knew her." She drew the words out so much they almost became unintelligible.

Nancy thought she'd faced the worst of it. She thought she knew why Claire called her here. Now she felt herself spinning into uncertainty, the only knowledge holding her back from panic being that that was where Claire wanted her to be. Panicking.

"Has Nancy Drew changed? Is the Nancy Drew I know dead?"

Even though Nancy knew her face gave nothing away—she'd practiced enough in front of the mirror for years—she felt a hairline crack in her resolve.

Claire lapped up the discomfort, sensing it, leering. In the expression her face took on, Nancy knew she could tell, that finally in this conversation she thought herself successful to a degree. "You think I'm crazy. I'm telling you I'm not. I just hated you that much, for that many years. See what it does to you. Either way, whichever it is, you'll have to deal with me in one capacity or another."

Nancy fought to keep her expression neutral.

"Just know," said Claire, "that if you're here because you've given up on living fair and you want in, I'm not going to help you. You're broke. You're stuck. And if you're here because you plan on exposing us, I will know, and I will make sure your family, your precious friends never find you."

She dug her fingernails into the back of her thigh where Claire couldn't see them.

Claire looked down, eyes stopping on Nancy's knee. "That's your only warning. That's your chance to turn it around." Her eyes snapped back up. "The men here don't scare you. We women, we have something else. We fight hard to match them, then we exceed. I am one of you, so you know that I won't stop before finding some horrible fate for you. There's no line I'll draw. There's no unfamiliarity. I know your shoes, I've been in them, and so anything and everything is justified in my hands."

"I won't give you any reason to take such action," Nancy replied.

Seeming grudgingly impressed with this, Claire pursed her lips and stared at her again for a long, long time. "It's true you aren't stupid. Get out of my sight."

Making sure to take her time, Nancy walked back to the dig site. She would not allow Claire to think she was in any hurry to leave or she was intimidated by her threats. She shouldn't have been intimidated by her threats in the first place.

Beltrán and José had disappeared by the time she returned. Such behavior indicated carelessness. They probably didn't believe they'd find anything else of much importance at the site.

Maybe it was about to close up.

Nancy frowned when she realized another person's absence: Sonny's. While she didn't suppose he'd managed to get himself in some trouble, there had been a lot of strange things happening at the site just today. She continued past the set of pits. Now she had to find him.

As she walked by her usual working space, Lou tossed her a reproachful glance. At that point Nancy realized that he had probably been placed in the unfortunate position of covering for her the several times she'd been gone today. She returned his look with an unspoken apology and continued walking.

First she tried behind the hill that housed the vehicles, ignoring the scared and suspicious looks of the diggers. No, she didn't plan on stealing a car, but he'd been there just a few minutes ago.

The area was deserted when she reached it.

Frowning, Nancy thought about where to search next and tried to determine a methodology for looking for him. Much of this area looked the same; she could so easily get lost.

She decided on starting from the nearest hills surrounding site then continuing in an outward spiral until she found him. Sometimes Sonny didn't think before he did things, but he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't have gone far.

After fifteen minutes of this she didn't get a result. Just as she started to worry, though, she saw a slender figure plastered against the green ground backdrop. His slouch was more defined than it was normally, indicating exhaustion or stress instead of a relaxed state.

Concerned, she approached.

Nancy had been right. Even with his back turned, she could see he was distraught. Where his hair wasn't oddly flat it lay in horizontal strips like he had run his hands through it several times. His head was slightly turned, and she saw that two distinct tufts protruded from either side of his head and one leaned forward and sideways from the front of his head, giving him the appearance of horns. His left hand fingers were flat and jammed together, tapping against the side of his leg in quick, short, stiff jerks that varied in duration. His other arm folded in front of him against his torso, parallel to the ground, and his ring hand gripped the elbow of his left.

Nancy leaned slightly to the side inquisitively. "Sonny?" she tried, unsurely, as quietly as she could while he'd still be able to hear her. So much had happened between them just in the last few minutes. Maybe he needed time to process alone. She knew she did. Maybe he wanted to be alone right now. The talk with Claire still hung crisply over her. The shakiness of her voice from that ordeal wasn't something she was sure she could control.

He still jumped when she spoke, and spun around. She saw it was even worse than she'd thought; his lips quivered and the corners gravitated down as if he hadn't smiled for some time. "Nancy," he choked out. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," she replied, stepping tentatively closer. "It's pretty far out here. You weren't lost, were you?"

"Nope," he said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Needed a breather."

"I just talked to Claire," she said.

"I know where you were."

Nancy wouldn't have liked his tone even in normal circumstances, but with frayed nerves she was in even less of a mood for this. "What?" she asked.

"Everything's falling apart."

Then she snapped. That was the last thing she needed to hear right now. The damage control for that would take Herculean effort. "No, it's not," she snarled. "Pull yourself the hell together."

Hurt dug into his eyes. It quickly changed to fury. "Don't tell me to pull myself together." His voice rose. "Don't tell me to calm down. What are you doing, anyway? You haven't been here for the past few minutes. You haven't been working on clues. You've been chatting. You haven't been thinking, you've been chatting. You've just been sociable with that weird lady for way too long, like, oh, la di da, I don't have a fucking other thing to do here."

"Don't you dare take that tone with me." Nancy stomped up to him. "Don't you dare. That 'friendly chat' was mainly me trying to keep us here without any trouble."

"Well, just don't bother," he said, firmly and relatively quietly. "I don't want to be kept here. So don't even try because it honestly isn't worth your time."

Nancy looked at him incredulously. No words came to her.

"And as for the rest of it, try to get a move on it, will you? Hurry up. Because I'm sick of being here."

"You can't expect…!" she turned away, head unable to stop going from side to side in disbelief, "out of nowhere. This is out of nowhere. And now you just want to drop everything without any notice."

"I don't want to drop everything. I want you to figure it out, because it's taking way too long."

"And you're blaming me for that? You always have me do all the work while you sit around and watch the sky and wait for something that's never going to come. No, you couldn't put together the compass yourself, you had me do it. You couldn't even bother to raft. You made me do that. And now that I actually need you for all of this stupid alien theory backstory, instead of helping me, you're cutting me out?" She crossed her arms so tightly they started to go numb right away. "You know I have no idea what to look for. I've been saying that since the beginning. And now you're blaming me when I'm not finding anything? That isn't fair."

"I'm not focusing on fair. I'm focusing on getting out of here. And about ideas. You have no idea? Then get an idea. Look at the clues and get an idea. That's what I wanted you for, and I've been telling you that since the very beginning, like you told me to. All I've ever done is keep you completely in the loop."

"You aren't making any sense!" Nancy wanted to scream. "To get an idea, I have to talk to you. I don't know any of this alien stuff. I need your help."

"You can't talk to me." Sonny's eyes went vacant. "I'll be leaving."

She double took. "What?" She looked around, making sure they weren't overheard. "You're the one who wanted me to come here in the first place!"

"No. Jin wanted me to come here," he said tersely. "And now he's dying."

Nancy's eyes widened.

"I mean, I wanted to go too," he added pensively. "I was the one that brought this to him. And he said, 'Go.' And now all I want to do is leave."

She still couldn't speak.

"And we can't. We have to finish this. Jamila's right. That's what he'd want."

"I'm… sorry," Nancy said finally.

He sighed. His eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I'm sorry I went off like that. None of this is your fault."

"Maybe telling you to pull yourself together wasn't really helpful, either," Nancy offered. "I'm sorry. Next time you say that, I promise I'll listen."

"And I promise I won't blame you for stupid shit." Sonny replied, looking miserable.

Nancy placed a hand on his shoulder. "We can finish this up," Nancy nodded as she spoke. "I can talk to Dylan, tell him we're almost done… and I think he knows that anyway. He's scared. He's making copies of sales records, receipts as we speak. He's even putting together and copying a rough provenance document for the first sale. That's all we need I think."

"What about Lou?"

"Lou never wanted to be here in the first place. He's always talking about dinosaur bones. You've heard him."

Sonny's brow folded from the pressure of discussing the investigation. "Can we talk? Can we just… talk?"

"Sure."

For a few seconds he just stood there, biting his lip.

"We've got to stick together now." Nancy offered a shaky grin. "I know it's hard, and this is new…"

"For what," he began at the same time, then realizing he'd interrupted, grimaced. "Sorry."

"Go on," Nancy prompted quietly.

"For what it's worth," he scratched his head, eyes darting up to her, "is there an us? Do you want there to be an us?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. After a brief pause, she spoke again. "Is that what you want?" she asked. "Because I know I sort of took you by surprise back there."

"Not that much by surprise." His shoulders, still tense, relaxed a bit. "I guess I should have expected you to make the first move."

"I didn't," admitted Nancy. Then she figured she'd go for honesty. All good relationships started and continued with it. "I've just been through a breakup," she further explained. "It hasn't exactly been great."

Sonny's head jerked up. "Really?" he asked. "I, uh, I didn't know that."

"Yeah. Turns out, he's gay."

His eyebrows rose. It looked so out of place next to the redness of his eyes and nose that Nancy would have laughed had it not been so tragic.

As for Ned... Nancy prepared to bite back a wince when her mind went to that again, but the temptation never came.

She hadn't even seen it coming at all. How running from Minkie McNab and Deirdre Shannon didn't just simply make him a nice boy. Loyal. How their innocent interactions, short kisses, long cuddles, weren't just respect. How his anger behind missing the romantic getaway was a different long-stifled frustration than she'd thought, comprised instead of secrets and long traces of relief that had prompted an overreaction. That innocuous storybook romances like theirs, which neither of them really outgrew, existed like that. How her being away all the time, his gushing over how amazing she was from thousands of miles away, was perfect for him.

Ned said love should be better for her, which made her angry. Yet finally, feeling the thought of Sonny glow somewhere behind her eyes, she understood what he meant. For all those months she had been annoyed, even a little angry, that he had held something so big from her for so many years. Now she felt the last trace of that lingering emotion slip away and die under her shoes.

And even when the infatuation with Sonny started to simmer away, like it had after that most recent kiss and even more now, she felt just as happy not working clues with him, just lying in the grass with him while they either talked, sometimes joking and sometimes dissecting the world, or said nothing. It was like the company of good friends: she didn't need to be around him all of the time, didn't want to be around him all of the time, she admitted with a smile, and the minute she saw him again, it was like no time had passed.

Whatever... _this_ was, it was more than that now.

The sun passed behind a set of clouds, drawing Nancy's attention to the sky. She noticed the bronze light had turned rusty. "It's getting late," she noted.

"I don't want to go back just yet."

"Yeah, I don't either," Nancy admitted. She sat. "They'll probably be done working by the time we get back anyway."

Sonny sank down onto his knees where he'd stood and looked at her. "Do you think José and the rest will be back?"

"They've got to be, unless they're farther out than this," Nancy said, drawing her legs out forward and leaning onto the knuckles of her balled hands. "I didn't have to hide to avoid running into them when I was looking for you."

"Well, I'm not worried. They haven't been around. It's like they've stopped caring."

"That's exactly what's happening. At least, I think it is."

"And if you think it is, it probably is," he said as if stating a fact, not a compliment.

"Well, I hope so. It's better if they don't care. Easier to get away with investigating. And easier to take breaks like this." Nancy allowed her head to sink into his shoulder.

They lay off speaking for a while, on Nancy's part due to exhaustion, on Sonny's due to rumination. The day had been so trying that Nancy had almost fallen asleep the next time Sonny spoke.

"Grandpa Jin went to a lot of places, but he never really saw the stuff around him," Sonny said softly. "He was always very 'space.' I had a lot of great conversations with him. Thorough conversations." His voice caught almost imperceptibly. He swallowed. "And now I've got only one left."

Nancy knew firsthand that nothing she said could make him feel better at that point. After her mother died, she'd confided in people, sometimes strangers, and been disappointed when they felt a need to respond. It was mostly out of obligation, anyway, so it always sounded stilted and uncomfortable. Sometimes her father even did it.

Maybe someday she'd know what to say, what he needed to hear. But for the moment she ran her hand up and down his arm and curled into his side.

He didn't continue. She didn't sense any more grief from him right now and suspected that he didn't say more because he didn't need to.

A few more minutes passed as the beginning of the end of the day snuck up on them. Somehow she knew this was the extent to which she'd be able to get out and enjoy Mexico, just like it had been with all of her past cases. This was all of the little time she'd always managed to scrape for herself. So she enjoyed it as intently as she could.

"We'll make our own stories, won't we?" she murmured.

"Mmmm-hmmmm," Sonny replied. He turned his head to the side and kissed her hair, his lips lingering for a few seconds above her ear. "Without a doubt."

They stayed there, all words drowned and colored in by the sunset. Objectively Nancy knew this was the least original pastime for romantic partners. But with Sonny, it all felt original.

"Pinch me," he said sleepily, out of nowhere.

"Not sure it'll help. I'm dreaming, too." There was a richness to this that couldn't be paralleled by experiencing it alone. "Sunsets," Nancy sighed, ducking her head as she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "You're kind of the perfect person for this."

Sonny didn't respond. She imagined he was pleased.

Dark pinks and oranges splattered across the sky, making a sunset more vibrant than any of the sunsets they'd seen so far. Nancy had seen them every night. It would ultimately prove subjective for sure; part of it was in the eye of the beholder. For the past few nights she'd been used to the beauty, taking it for granted. This one seared more brightly in her memory. And then more than ever she got the sense, felt intuitively the fact that time didn't ever retreat. Sometimes it retraced its steps.

This wasn't one of those times.

This built up to something unprecedented.

Something that couldn't be reversed.

Something that never turned back.

They stood and made their way back to the site, where tents were already set up. Since all the others had become so apathetic, they'd managed to just slip in without anyone noticing their absence. Things were just as bad as they'd left them, Nancy noticed. Claire threw Nancy a poisonous glance. Yet amidst all the strife, amidst the trouble, Nancy sank onto her cot and fell into the most peaceful sleep she'd had in months.


	20. Chapter 20

A light switched on abruptly in Nancy's bunk.

Brow creasing, she opened and closed her eyes a few times as she looked up.

Sonny stood a few feet away holding a tiny flashlight, his hand still gripping the wall of cloth that separated her area from the next, a finger to his lips.

Nancy sat up slowly and began to mouth words to him before her attention became diverted to the common area.

"I think this has come to a point that can no longer be ignored," José's voice floated toward them.

Silence followed.

"Something here is wrong. It has been wrong since you new diggers arrived. Some people or someone," he paused, and Nancy almost imagined he was looking at Dylan, "is working against us."

What a strange place to hold such a conversation, she couldn't help but think. It was private yet held in a relatively public space. Everybody slept soundly, but they'd have no way to discern someone's awakeness from the chorus of snores. It had to be an intimidation tactic, she surmised. They didn't care who overheard. It pressed the diggers to be completely truthful by allowing them to hear discussion on the matter of what would be done for those who weren't.

"Do you have proof?" Dylan said, proving that he was there sure enough.

Dry, icy quiet prevailed. "No," José hissed.

"Then I believe you're overreacting."

"And I believe I was mistaken in not getting rid of you sooner."

"I have absolutely nothing to hide," Dylan insisted. "I have told you the truth."

"That is for me to assess," replied José.

"This is concerning," Beltrán chimed in.

Nancy froze in shock. He was there, too?

"I highly suggest you tell us the truth from this point on," he continued.

"I do not understand why I'm here," spoke someone coolly through a Scandinavian accent.

Alexander.

"Because this feeling started with your team," said Beltrán. "And I find when I bite into an apple, there is not just one bad seed to spit out, there are several."

Pause.

"And we look at the simpletons, too," he continued.

Nancy thought it was a bit mean to refer to Dylan as a simpleton. Or anyone, for that matter.

"You think I know something?" chimed in another voice. After a second Nancy recognized it as Richard's. "I'm a janitor. I'm just looking for some money on the side. Try it sometime."

"Why here?" Beltrán prompted him. "Why now?"

"Because I was born in Boston. I lived in Boston until I realized I was forty years old. Then I got a job at Harvard and tried to add culture to my life that way. But you could be a janitor in heaven and still have a lousy job. And I've never traveled."

"Harvard," Beltrán noted. He sounded suspicious.

"Frankly, I'm insulted," said Alexander. "And why is it just us? Where are the others?"

"This does not concern the others."

"Where is Claire?" he continued gelidly.

"This does not concern her. It is our responsibility to keep track of the site and what may or may not be going on beyond our scrutiny. We don't need to bother her on the matter. We can take care of it ourselves."

Then Nancy realized that Claire had been right. Otherwise they would have roused her, too—and Holly, for that matter—for this little conversation. She never thought she'd be irked by being above suspicion, but this did bother her. A little of that every day over time and bit by bit it would drive someone insane. In a way Beltrán considered himself above Claire, excluding her and not for the reasons given. She was best when seen sparingly, he seemed to think. This was his turf.

Yet what about Sonny? Nancy found herself pondering as she reached for his hand and pulled him toward the cot so they could sit side by side.

Was he just too crazy for them?

"I don't know more than you tell me, and I don't like it and it is your fault."

"You should stop talking," warned José. "We would love nothing more than to get rid of you. Try not to give us a reason to."

"There's no need to argue," Dylan cut in, "besides that we're all tired, which is more of an excuse. Let's be civil, shall we?"

"Why?" asked Richard, deceptively chipper. "I kind of want to know what he's accusing me of and when I should start giving him a piece of my mind."

Nancy grimaced. He needed to hold his tongue or they'd all be in trouble. She bumped Sonny's shoulder as she reached over him for her notebook.

"Then should we drop it and discuss it in the morning?" Dylan asked with a pleading tone.

"You'd like that wouldn't you, you little snake?" José chuckled.

"Last time I checked, I don't slither or have scales." Dylan put on an air of hurt.

Nancy guessed he did it to cover up the fear she'd seen when talking to him before. And he was doing a good job.

"Shut up," he snarled. "I'm about to kill you right now if you don't shut up."

Nancy scrawled urgently on a clean page of her notebook. _We need to do something._ She handed Sonny the notebook.

In his hurry to grab it Sonny jostled it between his hands, almost dropping it. _What?_ he wrote before shoving it back at her.

 _I don't know,_ she replied, pen gliding jagged across the page.

They listened more.

"I am sure you are doing something," José said. "Hiding something. And you won't admit it."

"Why do you think so?" Dylan asked in exasperation, rounding on him. "You're hurting my feelings a little."

"Don't play stupid. Don't play charming. I can't stand it."

"We know, Dylan," Beltrán spoke again. "We know. And almost certainly you will be punished for it if you aren't reasonable. Of course, you can help yourself if you help us."

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. And although you won't admit to it, that's what matters." A chair shuffled. It sounded like Beltrán was moving closer to him. Going for a gentler approach. "We know you are not working alone," he reassured Dylan. "If you tell us your plan and who is working with you, you get to go home."

A long silence followed that.

"How can I name names," Dylan began, patiently and deliberately, "when I'm not doing anything? When they're not doing anything?"

Nancy took back her notebook, repeating the word _Something_ in larger handwriting and underlining it several times.

Sonny looked rather helplessly at her. _Jump out and say boo?_ he wrote.

Then it came to her. _We do what you do best,_ she wrote and slammed the notebook in his lap.

For several seconds he visibly puzzled over it. Then he finally circled _What?_

Nancy's nostrils flared. It frustrated her that he didn't understand her train of thought yet. She momentarily forgot how she herself had felt the first few days of knowing Sonny. Getting to know him anyway.

 _Leaving with the relic,_ she wrote in tall, angry slant.

_Leaving him here by himself?_

_They'll think they were wrong when we're the ones who have an agenda, which we'll prove by leaving and stealing some of their artifacts._

Understanding dawned on his face. _When?_ he wrote.

They started listening again.

"I ask you again, Dylan. Do you have anything to tell us?"

Nancy and Sonny exchanged tense looks. The pause between speech seemed to go on endlessly. Finally, after about fifteen seconds, Dylan said, "I don't."

Nancy  grabbed her bag, tipping the notebook and a few things next to her bed inside. She shifted around. For a few seconds she looked puzzled. "How did you get in here?" she mouthed.

Sonny pointed and formed the word, "Wall."

When she didn't understand, he slipped his hand between the tent fabric and cloth divider.

She rose. He turned off the light. They stepped lightly over to the opposite divider. Nancy paused briefly, disoriented, wondering which side was closer to the entrance. If only she weren't still so sleepy…

Sonny nodded and mouthed, "That way." He poked his head into the next area past the first divider, then looked back at Nancy and nodded his head. They slid through.

Immediately Sonny continued to the next one and passed through there, as well, which led to his own space. He grabbed his backpack. They kept going.

Soon they were at the last area before the entrance, where Manuel was snoring contentedly. Nancy had purposely chosen a bunk closest to the entrance of the ones that were vacant in order to be able to make a quick getaway if she needed to. She guessed Sonny had the same idea, and at first she'd been mad that he'd stolen what she regarded as her space. At the moment she didn't much care, though.

At the last minute Nancy's foot hooked on one of the stakes holding up the tent, drawing it a foot or so outward. Sonny caught her before she fell.

The tent slid a few inches down.

They froze as everybody again became silent.

A few seconds later they started talking again to Nancy and Sonny's relief. Sonny took a few deep breaths and exhaled through rounded lips. Nancy peered out of the last partition. She looked back at Sonny. After stepping delicately toward him until she stood close, she whispered in his ear. "They're sitting in a circle. A couple of them are facing us."

Sonny turned his head. "Under?" he whispered back.

She shook her head. "Too tight."

They set their heads close together to avoid having to turn them to speak. "We'll have to wait until they're not looking," said Nancy.

"When will they not be looking?" Sonny replied, confused.

"I don't know," she admitted."

"We have to get out of here now," he said. "Otherwise they're going to do something drastic. And they need to hear us getting away now so they won't."

"The car starting will take care of that."

He froze. "How do we do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"We don't have a key to the car!"

"Lou," Nancy said right away.

"He's in the other tent." Sonny scuffed his foot soundlessly against the floor. "Shit."

"Calm down—I mean," Nancy quickly corrected herself, not wanting to be unhelpful, "we can do this. You go get Lou. I can get the artifact."

"Which one?"

"The bowl and one of the stone pieces. The one with the drawing. We know the text."

"Fine, but how do we get out of here?"

Nancy peered out at them again. She looked back and shook her head.

Sonny's eyes drifted to the foot or so of space above the dividers. Suddenly he dropped to his knees and began running his hands around the ground.

Following his lead, Nancy did the same. Her hand closed around a rock around the size of her palm. She reached for his and closed it around the rock, communicating that she had found something. He took the rock and prepared to throw it to the far side of the tent.

Nancy caught his arm. "Underhand it," she hissed.

"That'll make it harder. I can do it without my hand going above it and being seen. You trust me?"

She nodded.

"Watch." He threw the rock cleanly horizontally so it didn't catch on the top of the tent and bounce down into an area a few feet short. It landed in the opposite corner.

They darted out.

She turned to him. "Did they see us?"

He grinned. "Nope!"

"Good!" she said with an easy smile of relief. "Go get Lou. Don't take no for an answer."

"Do I ever?"

She laughed a little. "I'll get the artifact from the artifact tent. Go."

For a few seconds she watched as he grinned at her and skittered off. Then she turned to the tent. Taking a small flashlight from her pocket, she ventured inward.

She froze.

Lying in the corner, arm slung around a chair seat, was none other than Claire Warwick.

Claire stirred.

Nancy quickly cupped her hand over the light. Of course the artifacts would be guarded, she chided herself. Now she could only hope that it was later than she'd thought, being solidly asleep through the passing of time, and that Claire herself was asleep and not still in the process of trying to get there.

She didn't hear anything after that, which she considered to be a good thing. If Claire were awake and had seen the wink of light, she'd be moving around right now in trying to figure out what it was.

Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, Nancy tried to remember where everything was in the tent the last time she'd been there to take pictures. The large stone slab had only been cut earlier that day—had it been that soon? she thought with some astonishment—so she didn't know where the pieces were. Probably out of sight, probably in the same place.

In the meanwhile she reached to her left for the bowl, which had been there, and was pleased when her fingers curled around the rim. Dylan had been preparing a sale for this one. He'd probably have the provenance documents almost ready if not ready, and that was all he needed. And her and Sonny's departure would give him even more leeway since it would divert suspicion. With Sonny's video of the destruction of the artifact, Nancy's photos, and all their testimony, they would have enough evidence to prove black market activity at this site. With a pang she realized that she hadn't been able to achieve what she came for: find what Sonny was looking for—whatever it was—in time. She knew she could look forward to many sleepless nights devoted to that.

And in that moment she was astonished with herself. Before she might not even have cared, especially knowing that what he was looking for was so abstract. But she had still wanted to find it.

A soft rustling sound returned Nancy to the situation. Claire must have moved her head or something.

Suddenly she realized that that was where the pieces had to be. She was guarding them, all right. And she wouldn't be sleeping in such a strange place at the very back center of the tent if she wasn't. Normally, she'd be sleeping on the floor.

She moved forward.

Claire's form moved again, slumping forward.

Before she could decide on an approach she felt fingers close around her wrist.

She jerked out of the tent and prepared to punch her assailant unconscious before he could make any noise. This had to be taken care of quietly.

"It's me, it's me," Lou hissed. "Don't hit me! Love, not war! Jesus!"

Nancy's other hand lowered and relaxed from a fist. "Lou," she said, wiping her hair out of her eyes exhaustedly.

"We've got to go. Right now."

"Why?" Nancy looked back toward the tent. "I need something in there."

"You've got the bowl," Sonny said, appearing behind Lou. "That's all we need."

Nancy stopped and shifted until she faced him directly. Lou let go of her. "What do you mean that's all we need?" Her hands went to her hips. "No, that's not all we need. I need the one with the drawing."

"You have it written in your notebook, right?"

"That's a rough drawing made when I wasn't looking at it."

"Nancy, leave it. We have to go."

"This is getting too sloppy," she complained.

"Better than you ending up too dead." He took her arm and inclined his head. "C'mon."

Reluctantly she followed, idly listening to Lou's complaints fill the air and skitter off into the night.

"I knew you were doing something weird," he groused. "I knew it. And then you," he threw a floppy hand Sonny's way, "have to run and drag me into it. You just can't leave me out of your stupid schemes that're going to get everybody killed. And all the crap I did, lied to Beltrán about why you were gone, talked to people, and you didn't even freaking thank me for it. So thank you, Nancy Drew, for adding more stressors to my life." He unlocked the car and shoved the pair in by the shoulders. "And hasn't this just really made my night."

"I'm sorry Lou," Nancy said without really meaning it. Normally she would have, but it was late. She just wanted to shut him up.

"Just so you know, this is about to get really hairy." Lou started the ignition and peeled out of the dirt, shooting out over the hill and leaving the site. "We're gonna have company in five… four… three… two…"

Shouts rose into the air. People started tearing out of the tents.

Nancy twisted around onto her knees, watching intently. "Open the window," she ordered Sonny without looking away.

"Why?"

"So I can hear!"

A burst of sound told her he'd complied.

The closest figure had fluttery movements around its head.

Female.

Claire.

Others started to follow her to the car. "No!" she screamed, barely audible to Nancy from the distance. "Too many will attract the authorities!" A stream of profanity shot out of her mouth as she pushed people to the ground and leapt into the next car.

Lou took several abrupt turns.

Nancy could swear she felt the wheels on the other side leave the ground. She threw herself across Sonny to redistribute the weight. "Lou—what—are—you—doing?" she asked, voice lurching with every jolt, teeth clattering straight into her brain.

"Clearly you've never driven in L.A.," he said gleefully as he swerved again.

He was enjoying scaring them a little too much. But, Nancy supposed, that's what she got for dragging him into this. Sonny squirmed beneath her, looking nervously out of his window. "Lou, what the hell man?" he blurted.

"I'm just trying to lose the creep." He gunned it at the bottom of another hill. "Relax."

"Did it rain last night?" Nancy asked. Now that the air was moving past them so fast, it was difficult to feel for humidity. She tried for the rain smell but didn't get anything like that, either.

"Nope. Why?"

"Because that won't leave dirt in the air," she said. "I'm concerned about her being able to trace us."

"Hey, we want dirt in the air." Lou took his foot off the gas as they reached the top. "Makes it easier to disappear. And the hills make it even easier."

She sighed and tried to sit back. "If you say so."

"You wanted my help," Lou chided. "You've got my help. And now you have to listen to me."

"Well I don't have to agree," she replied sullenly.

"It'd be in your best interest if you did," he taunted.

Nancy rolled her eyes and rolled her head to the side to look at Sonny, who was steadily turning a pale green color. For a second she considered how nice it looked against his orange hair before remembering that she should have been concerned.

His eyes darted over to her although the rest of him didn't move. "Sometimes I get carsick," he said hoarsely.

"Just pretend you're in a spaceship," Nancy offered brightly.

He threw her a look of disgust and flopped over toward the window. "Spaceships aren't this bumpy," he said sourly. "Don't ruin my dream."

A few more minutes of Lou's driving didn't bring them any fortune. Claire kept up easily.

Lou laughed voicelessly, hissing through his teeth. "Whoo! She's good. Must be from St. Louis or something." He opened his window and screamed out, "Sister City!"

"We're not congratulating her," Nancy said through her attempt at gritted teeth although they kept being pried apart by the bumps. "Try again."

"Oh." He leaned to the side again. "Fuck you!"

Nancy winced. She didn't want to give Claire any more motivation to catch them. "Preferably something not so… incendiary." "Well, I'm out." He swiveled around in a U-turn.

Sonny and Nancy tumbled to the floor of the car.

"Seatbelts!" He said as if talking to children. "Haven't you watched any car crash footage videos? They weren't wearing seatbelts."

"You don't plan on crashing, do you?" Nancy shouted over the whistling of air from two open windows.

"No, but prepare for the worst."

"Is this the time I'm supposed to say if I die, I've always loved you?" Sonny asked with a crescent grin.

Nancy felt a few jitters up her spine she was sure couldn't be attributed to the driving. "I'm sorry we couldn't find what you were looking for," she said.

Sonny pulled his upper lip inward and shrugged over her. His face was still green, but he looked like he felt a little better. "Things don't always go as planned. Or maybe this was the plan." He sat back on his knees and bounced back up to the seat. He offered her a hand.

Smiling, Nancy took it.

They drove or rather fell down another hill. Sonny placed a hand over his head to shield it, but from the way his face twisted when he hit the ceiling, it looked like it hadn't offered much protection.

Nancy leaned forward. "Are we going anywhere?" She asked Lou.

"Nowhere in particular. Why? You have an idea?"

"No. I wish I did." She sank back against the seat and didn't fight the next bump that sent her back arching, head and eyes jerking upward. A minute later and she was doubled over her lap. At that moment she noticed that this was habit for her, looking downward when she was thinking hard about something.

Sonny was the opposite way. Often she caught him looking at the sky, face either completely engaged or completely blank. Either proved equally fascinating to watch. In the earlier days at Usrique she'd tried unsuccessfully to pick a favorite, but the beauty of each became absence in the presence of the following other so that it became impossible to tell.

Soon she found her mind drifting back to the clues, and she tried to string them together. The first few attempts were clumsy and contrived, grasping for any connection that would come to her. Then they became more natural. She began to hope.

Two pyramids and a ziggurat.

Gods that weren't Mayan.

Stone tablets used where paper more likely would have been in Mayan culture.

On the second midday sun.

The Sumerian phrase, road whose course does not turn back.

She turned all of them over and over in her mind. It did seem like this site was older than other Mayan locations. But it was incontestably Mayan. Sonny had identified the glyphs as Mayan, even on the stone tablet that seemed to predate Mayan customs, being a little more Olmec. And as for the presence of non-Mayan gods…

That offered, to her mind, two possibilities. It might have shown that Mayan gods were still in development. Or it could have been a tribute to other gods.

Sumerian gods.

She turned again to Sonny. "What gods were on the big stone?"

"I don't remember their names. One of them was Inanna."

"Sumerian?"

"Yeah." Sonny's eyes snapped a little more into focus. "Why? You have a theory?"

"Working on one." She pursed her lips and thought some more. "Two pyramids and a ziggurat," she mouthed to herself. Maybe they hadn't seen it correctly. She doubted that Sonny had seen all of the "eyegoggle" glyphs correctly. It was like Professor Hotchkiss said when Nancy was in Egypt; people saw what they wanted to see in the glyphs. No, she didn't particularly want to see pyramids and ziggurats, but Sonny did.

There had to be a logical explanation for those myths traveling thousands of miles across a water barrier the way they had appeared to.

But she had to leave that for now if she wanted to figure out how to find what Sonny was looking for. Maybe it was nothing, but she had the feeling that something was around here, something she had missed.

She thought about the phrase from the corner of the tablet, on the second midday sun.

What would happen on the second midday sun? A greatly significant event?

No doubt Sonny thought it was the date of abduction. Ascension, so to speak, in a totally different way. Ascending to the edge of the earth and onward to space and other galaxies. Ascension, normally used in royal context, that was nonetheless as royal and sacred to him in the way he thought of it.

Had the stone tablet, intact, been predicting something?

Or was it a code?

"On the second midday sun," she said to herself, trying the words aloud. "On the second midday sun."

"If you aren't out of my hair by the second midday sun I'll kick you out, I promise you," Lou offered.

"Shhh. Let her work." Sonny watched her, greatly interested, which turned out to be more distracting than Lou's interruption.

"No. Let me work," said Lou. "I'm doing all the dangerous stuff here. So I get to say what I want when I want."

"And do you think you're working when you're saying things?" Sonny asked. "Just curious."

"Hey, I can multitask."

A switch flipped in Nancy's brain.

All expression left her face.

"Nancy?" Sonny asked. "Are you okay?"

"Wait," she said, hand springing up to request silence.

Sonny complied.

"Multitask," said Nancy. "Lou, say what you just said."

"I said 'Hey, I can multitask.' Why?" He glanced at her through the rearview. "What are you onto?"

"Multitask." Nancy tapped her index finger against the palm of her other hand, lips sewed tightly together in thought. "Doing more than one thing at once. Dual purpose."

"Yeah," Lou said, though the subtext clearly said "Duh." "That's what the definition of multitask is."

"Shhhh!" Sonny sprang up next to Lou, eyes going wide and hard. Lou stretched out his fingers, giving the appearance of holding up his hands without them ever leaving the steering wheel.

Nancy held her hands out, palms up, each to her holding a different idea.

Time.

Direction.

Motion.

"I've got it," she said shortly.

"What?" Sonny asked, scooting closer.

"Alexander said…"

He leaned—or rather bumped—forward. "Yeah?"

"The time theme. Sonny, the time theme!" She hadn't had a chance to look at the stone corner fragment lately, since it had been sold. Apparently Claire wanted the fragments liquidated soon because they were less suspicious, harder to track. She wanted to hold onto the larger pieces until the coast was clear. Besides, they'd only rise in value.

"What about it?" he asked quizzically.

"We're not supposed to just sit around waiting for it. The second midday sun."

Sonny recognized Alexander's translation from the tablet corner.

"It's a time, but it's also a location." Nancy beamed. "The second midday sun. That's the length of travel. And the midday sun… that's the direction! Northwest. That's where the sun is in the middle of the day!"

"That's brilliant!" Sonny lauded her. He didn't get a further chance to interject because Nancy was shouting directions at the back of Lou's head. "You know the area, Lou. Is there something 15, 20 miles northwest of Usrique? Anything at all? Even if there isn't it might be buried and you have to drop us off there anyway." She turned to Sonny. "This is it. This has to be what you're looking for."

"You sure you're not reading into it?" Sonny asked with a teasing glint in his eye.

"I guess we'll see," said Nancy, trying to cap off her excitement. "But I think we'll be finding your thing after all."

"You wanna hear the answer to my question, or are you gonna keep talking?" Lou asked.

Nancy pressed her lips together, but try as she might she couldn't pry the corners down.

"Loltun Cave. It's about three miles out of Oxkutzcab which is thirteen and a half miles away from Usrique. Pretty much right in the middle between the site and Tekax."

Her head jolted over to face Sonny. "This can't be a coincidence," she said. "I mean, it might be," she added, "but it doesn't feel like one. This hunch is pretty strong."

"You're crazy if you go in there," Lou warned.

"Yeah," Nancy laughed through her teeth, "I've heard that one before."

"Most of it is unexplored," Lou said. "You're pretty sure to get lost."

"Well," Nancy caught Sonny's eyes again, "I'm game. Are you crazy enough?"

"You know you don't have to ask." Sonny then raised his voice slightly to address Lou in the front. "Do we still have Claire?"

"We just lost her about thirty seconds ago," he announced.

"Great," said Nancy. "Now where are we?"

"You think I know?" his voice inflected upward with incredulosity. "Uh… I can find out."

Nancy's eyes scanned the front dash. "Does the car have a GPS?"

"Psshhhh. Don't need one."

"Yeah, we kinda do," she said. "I know you can get us there without a GPS, but we need to get there now."

"Why the hurry?"

"Why not?" Nancy leaned against the back of his seat. "Look. The sooner you get us there, the sooner you can go do your own stuff, and the sooner we all can rest easy knowing that Claire's not sending anybody else after us."

He jerked his head up and down. "Fair enough."

"Tell us more about Loltun," she said, sitting up straighter as the car's movements calmed down.

"It has a bunch of cenotes, the sinkholes with water in them. Clearest water you'll ever see. It's pretty down there and about twenty degrees cooler. I think there are some cave drawings too. Really old ones."

Nancy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "It's significant. I knew it. That tablet had directions to the cave."

"And all you needed was the end of it." Sonny drooped an arm around her shoulder. His eyes shone with pride.

"What are you going to do, Lou?" Nancy asked.

"Dunno. Something." He glanced at his phone and typed something in. "Okay. Surprisingly, we're close. To Oxkutzcab anyway. You'll have to walk from there. And I'll have to drive from there."

"To the cave?" Nancy's voice took on a higher pitch. "You're coming with us?"

"To Tekax," he said. "I'm dropping off the car."

"That's probably a good idea," she said. "Are you going to stay there?"

"Nope." He slowed down the car. "Have my own stuff to do."

"Don't we all?" put in Sonny.

The hilly terrain tamed into waves. Tiny blocks and rectangular outlines appeared on the horizon. As they came closer, the car slowed more and more until it finally pulled to a stop on a road bisecting where the buildings began.

Perfect stillness encompassed the little town, drawing others in by curiosity of difference. It welcomed novelty, or at least it had that air. It was a romantic setting, and it reminded Nancy of some of the ghost towns she'd been to.

Lou shoved an elbow to the side of his headrest and turned backward to face them. "I'm done," he told them. "Gonna go into Tekax like I said, leave the car there, and walk back to where I've been looking for the past few weeks before going to Usrique. Hope my radio's still there."

"Good luck, Lou," Sonny said cheerfully.

"Be careful," Nancy added.

"Same to you guys. If you're really gonna do what you're planning, you'll need all the luck you can get. And help." He clicked his fingers against the steering wheel. "Maybe I'll be able to do something from my spot. But no promises."

"No promises," Nancy acknowledged. "Thanks for getting us here."

Lou nodded and switched gears. "I'm outta here," he said. "Zippy zoom."

They watched him leave. Once he was out of sight, Sonny turned to Nancy. "Do you need a break before we go?"

"No." Nancy looked for the North Star and steered herself slightly to the side. She began to walk. "I need to not take a break."

"Sounds good." He caught up to her, moving his head briefly in her direction. "Let's finish this, shall we?"

"Sounds like a plan."


	21. Chapter 21

Nobody dug at Usrique the following day.

Once the tents had been deconstructed (except for the artifact tent, which stayed up for the day), everyone was told to wait in the pits.

Dylan still had the sense that something was very wrong, but it was much stronger this time. Beltrán, José, and Claire stationed themselves at the back of the tent, discussing the situation without ever taking their eyes off the diggers. Sometimes the discussion escalated to yelling, especially between Beltrán and Claire. José stayed shifty-eyed on everyone else. He had stopped focusing on Dylan, finally. Now he probably had bigger problems anyway.

Eyes sliding between the two parties, Dylan knew he had to come up with some sort of plan. Fortunately he'd finished up making and copying one of the sets of provenance records yesterday afternoon, and that would probably be enough for evidence. It had to be enough. Right now he had to focus on the situation arising here. The question here was no longer "if" some sort of altercation would take place. It was "when."

"—the authorities!" Claire's voice began to rise again. "What are we going to do? What the hell are we going to do?"

"Leave. That's all we can do," José spoke up.

"They know our names and what we look like! Leaving won't be enough," Claire spat, shooting her foot into the ground. "They took one of the artifacts. Maybe they want money or something."

"And what will that do?" Beltrán seethed at her. "They can take our money and still turn us in! José is right. We have to leave the site."

"We're not leaving, you idiots. Leaving won't do jack shit. We need to stay and sell everything. We need to sell everything _now_ , because I will tell you, by the time they get to the authorities, if they get to the authorities, this operation is done. They'll be on the lookout. If we scratch our noses they find us, and they arrest us."

"Keep your voice down," advised José, lowering his own.

"No. No. I'm going to do what _I_ want, José," she shrilled. "What are the diggers going to do about it? They're scared. If we told them to drive the cars off cliffs they would do it. We're staying. There are still things here. And believe me, we're going to need every single one of them to stay above because our revenue will pretty soon be gone."

Dylan looked around. The diggers didn't look the same as they usually did. And by that knowledge he guessed they weren't scared.

Yes. He had to come up with a plan.

"I am not going to ruin my life because of your asinine judgment," Beltrán retorted brusquely, more and more leaving his good-natured facade with every heated word. "If you want to stay, that's your choice. I am leaving."

"Shhh!" José's eyebrows knitted together low over his brow in urgency.

"If you leave," Claire said slowly, "I'll turn you in myself."

"And what of you? They'll arrest you too."

"Not if I say that was my aim to begin with. Blowing the lid on the black market here. Just look at my track record. I was once a student of archaeology. Maybe the past few years have been an effort to save my beloved artifacts in a way that makes a difference."

Dylan tried wildly to predict the situation. All appearances indicated that these three were about to destroy themselves. If the diggers felt strong enough to step in—and they did, from the looks on their faces—then all Dylan had to do was stand back and wait.

If Beltrán and José were about to get rid of Claire, though, he needed to do something now.

He watched them intently, looking for facial expressions and what they were doing with their hands and feet. Beltrán stood rigid about ten feet away from the others. He'd been physically distancing himself ever since expressing his desire to leave. And now he wasn't moving back to confront Claire, whose heel was still ripping into the ground.

"I advise you not to try that," Beltrán said, smiling. "I believe you are talking big."

"And I believe you are too stupid to see the concept." Claire's mouth tightened. "In the court I have more clout than you. If you want to play 'he said, she said,' good. I invite you to try it and see just how well it turns out."

"Claire," José said, sounding not angry but uncharacteristically apprehensive, "I question your good judgment right now."

"Okay. Question it." She didn't look away from Beltrán. "We have more here if we don't shrink away from it. And I'm not going to let you two ruin it just because you don't have the balls." Finally she turned her head toward him. "Question it, but do what I say."

"No."

Both their heads turned to Beltrán.

"Life is short. I don't want to spend any of it locked up."

José and Claire exchanged glances.

Dylan reconsidered his assessment. Maybe José and Claire would depose Beltrán instead of Beltrán and José deposing Claire. If there was going to be any rift among the uppers, José and Claire allying now seemed more likely.

Either way, someone or some people were going to end up dead quite soon if things kept going like this. He'd never seen weapons here, but he knew Beltrán and José had some. From all the threatening they did, they had to. Dylan knew their threats weren't empty ones.

Maybe a little rearranging of the circumstances was necessary. He turned to Manuel, who was next to him.

He ran the risk of showing his hand too soon. There was still the chance that diggers would report him right away, as they were ordered to, if they still were even just a little bit scared and their fear overrode their indignation.

He also ran the risk of losing their trust even further if they still saw him as being in league with Beltrán.

There was only one way to lessen the chance of danger to himself, and that was telling the truth. The timing for that was now. He could feel it.

He leaned slightly to the side so he and Manuel could talk while still allowing him to watch the others. "I'm here on an agenda," he said. "They wronged me. And if I want to take them down, are you with me?"

Manuel looked briefly away.

That had been a prudent amount of truth, and no part of it was lie. They wronged everyone by what they did with the artifacts. If he'd said he was here to expose black market dealings, the diggers would also be implicated—not just Beltrán, José, and Claire.

He felt guilty, like he was using them only to sentence them later. Like he'd been doing something similar all his life, refusing to think of the circumstances his actions caused for others. If his testimony outside proof of the records he took part in falsifying meant anything in court, if they did all help him take them down, he'd do his best to get them off.

After a few seconds, Manuel returned his gaze. "Yes," he said.

With that, they waited.

"We need to assume that those who escaped are going to the authorities," said Beltrán. "Especially the girl and the boy. They never seemed to fit in here. The girl was too bright, too vibrant. The boy… I never knew what he was doing here, just assumed he was not harmful. I only wish I saw that sooner."

"I told you," Claire shrieked, finger shaking as she pointed her arm at him. "I told you to be careful of the Drew girl back when I first saw her smug little face in Tekax! And I kept telling you. But you were just too stupid. You underestimated her. I warned you. And don't you dare talk about it because I can't listen to it. Things didn't have to happen this way. I warned you about her. You shooed me away. You said you had everything under control."

Beltrán stood in silence though his eyes glimmered dangerously.

"And if I know Nancy Drew, she'll get to the authorities. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but she'll get there soon, and that's why we have to sell everything and get rid of it now."

Everybody in the pits rose from their crouches.

José noticed immediately and stood.

For a few seconds they all stood, paused by the silence.

Claire and Beltrán flung words at each other for at least half a minute before they noticed it, too.

And then even Claire didn't dare move.

The diggers were closer to the cars.

And each of them knew it.

Dylan wished he hadn't forgotten the next few seconds. They seemed vital and brilliant and alive, somehow more alive than he ever could've been. But in times like these he couldn't help wearing his mortal life on his sleeve and failing to pull it away when the sleeve wrapped all the way around his vision. Some of his mates talked about times they were sure they'd die and what they did and didn't remember about those moments. There were always more things that they didn't remember, like they had actually gone somewhere else for a little while. The frailty and uncertainty here took over.

And then, suddenly, those three were subdued pretty much where they stood.

"She will go to the authorities?" one of the diggers was yelling in Beltrán's face. "What about us, then?"

"What about my children?" shrieked another.

In that manner they gathered closer around the three.

Dylan realized that he hadn't done anything until now. But he had to do something fast. All their lives depended on it. He had people skills. Negotiation skills, just from the past few weeks. Could he—should he—use them for this? If all this time at the site he'd been up to no good, at least this would help undo some of the damage.

He bit his lip. There were no pretty young women here. He couldn't use his looks on this crowd. This would be difficult. He wouldn't have anything to fall back on. The only one left was Holly, who looked rabid and very confused, but mostly rabid. He didn't sense fear in her, just like he didn't sense fear in any of the other diggers anymore. Even the ones who didn't want to go to jail, who had families, were angry, not scared.

Claire, oddly, didn't seem scared either. Her face was knotted and twisted and blue-white with patches of dirt just from handling the artifacts, which hadn't been cleaned. Her lips were pulled so far into her mouth that he couldn't see them, and so tightly that he couldn't see any puckered line, giving her the appearance of having no mouth at all. In that second she was the archetype of fury, the god of it, wielding it so much and so fully that there was room for nothing else. She resembled a corpse, and not one of the well-preserved mummies he'd sometimes seen in Egypt. She resembled a corpse far gone, beaten down by the dirt and rain. Her stillness completed the picture.

He looked away. He had to. Beltrán and José looked as scared as she didn't.

Then out of the blue he remembered the little chat they'd all had last night and looked for Alexander and Richard. They both hung back, confused. They looked scared.

The diggers grew louder in their complaints. One raised a fist.

Dylan felt that someone had jammed a fish hook around his trachea. Someone had to do something.

Sweat swam the creases of his palms.

He could not do this alone.

Closing his eyes, he whispered a name, one he suspected he knew but could not even remotely remember later, and wished he were braver.

Suddenly a hoarse voice rose above the building chaos, Spanish-speaking.

Dylan froze.

Manuel stepped forward, waving his hands, face split between command and concentration.

The overall din ceased for a second. The diggers stared at him for a few seconds, unimpressed.

Drawing a shaky breath, Dylan tried to clear his head. Brave. Brave. Be brave. His window to talk was fading.

Did he even have a window?

"These men and this woman have taken away our lives," replied a digger named Estavan, not scornfully but truthfully. "Where are we to go after this? What are we going to do with them?"

"Kill him!" sighed Carlitos, the oldest and angriest. His set face spoke fifty years, but his wholly white hair spoke sixty-five or seventy.

All chatter cracked into silence.

"Do you honestly think that killing them will help you?" Manuel barked, this time in English. His eyes skirted past Dylan to Carlitos, then Estavan, then the rest of the diggers, and finally back to Carlitos. "Someday down the road, somebody's probably going to put the pieces together and find you. And then you'll have to deal with that on top of things."

"People do not get caught here," Carlitos pointed out. "They never do. Sometimes we don't get paid. And who listens to us then? No one."

Dylan knew what he meant by "here." The black market. This was the dirt. They were all so under that they couldn't breathe and no one paid attention to them.

"Will killing them help you? Your families?" Manuel repeated.

"No, but it will help me get to sleep tonight," Carlitos said with a one-sided grin.

Brilliant, Dylan internally sighed. Now he _really_ had to make a decision. He wished Beltrán and José hadn't insisted on a conversation last night. He needed more sleep to deal with this. His mind tracked several contributions he could make. He considered suggesting turning Claire and crew over to the authorities, convincing the diggers of the justice of that.

No. No, that wouldn't do. He didn't care for the authorities. Yeah, leaving the authorities out of this was probably the better way to go.

"They're better off alive," Manuel continued. "That way they can't bring as much harm to you."

"They're better off dead," retorted the old man. "That way they cannot talk."

Oh, dear. Escalating quickly. Say something, Dylan chided himself. Anything.

"If they're alive, they actually have to think about what they've done to you. They're left to think about it."

"They think about nothing. They don't care."

"Can we hold off on making any rash decisions?" Dylan finally blurted out. "Just for now?"

Carlitos turned to him. He chuckled. "This is not rash. This is the last few months, for some of us years, in the making."

It took a few seconds for Dylan to realize that he was now the center of attention. Quickly he considered different tactics. Would framing this in trade talk be helpful? They hadn't actually helped with selling the items. Still… "They've taken your work. Maybe even your dignity. Is taking their lives a fair trade?"

"They have taken ours," Carlitos continued. "I don't know the names of those I've worked next to. I know yours, Dylan, only because you have been reprimanded so many times. A name is not an insult. A name shows a person. And a person is not an insult. They have taken our lives by making us less than people. They have made us into dirt. Dirt and the bones we stand on."

"You still have a choice," Manuel pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "Will killing them turn you into people again?"

Carlitos didn't respond to this. His eyes turned on Dylan, engaged for the first time in the conversation.

"Only you can say if you're dirt," Dylan continued. "Don't let them tell you what you are."

Carlitos' eyes narrowed.

For a few seconds that was the only movement anyone made.

Then Carlitos took a few long, graceful steps forward and clasped Manuel's hand with one of his own, placing the other on top of their joined fingers. "I cannot say you are right," he said, "but you have given me something to think about."

"I could have told you as much, Carlitos, you tired old fool," said another of the diggers, Juan, dispelling the tension in the air.

A few laughed slightly. For his own part, Dylan grinned weakly, embarrassed by own his late and unnecessary inclusions.

Then all of the diggers set their eyes back on Claire, Beltrán, and José with a nearly-audible snap.

They were trapped within the circle of diggers. They weren't going anywhere.

Everyone stood less stiffly after that. Two men went off to get rope and chairs to ensure that Claire, Beltrán, and José stayed put. After only about thirty seconds a buzz rose over them all.

It took Dylan some time to realize that it was words, conversation. It had been so long since he'd heard talking in public.

After a few more moments he thought it was safe to turn around, take a few seconds to himself. He raised his eyebrows and blew out air through his lips. That had been a close one.

Another tier of relief sank through the muscles of Dylan's shoulders as he thought again of what had transpired last night. If things had kept going the way they'd been going, he might have had to make a daring escape himself. Briefly he wondered where Nancy and Sonny were right now. They'd absconded with one of the artifacts. Claire had been spitting mad when she returned without them. He didn't know why they'd chosen to leave just then, but it had been perfect timing. Beltrán and José had immediately laid off him. With Lou stealing one of the cars like that, they hardly had any choice. Time was of the essence. And though they got outside as quickly as they could, it just hadn't been soon enough.

For Dylan it had been just soon enough. Beltrán had just said "Come with me," with a pretty unmistakable subtext. The words were barely out of his mouth before the sound of a car engine had sent them all outside the tent.

And at first he didn't know what Beltrán had meant. There hadn't been enough time even for that, to finish processing the request or to think of a plan or some daring escape where his smooth words, for once, had failed him.

That was the main reason he'd been thinking up a plan for this situation for some time now, maybe even earlier than he needed to. Once he'd realized his danger, though, that extra effort just made sense to him. This was one of the occasions when he thought, better safe than sorry. Now that he wasn't under intense scrutiny his skin didn't crawl every time someone looked at him, and he felt he could breathe again. Maybe that gave him the confidence to say a word or two here, or maybe it was the necessity of some intervention.

At the moment everything seemed stable. Still tense, but relatively peaceable.

Keeping things this way would be another matter entirely. Dylan breathed in, feeling the hot air against his teeth. He could help with that. Just had to keep telling himself.


	22. Chapter 22

The day had begun over a fresh set of hills, soon proving itself to be a nice change of scenery. Lou dropped the car off and left Tekax just as the sun was rising. He didn't even feel a little bit tired, which made him happy. Normally he didn't feel tired, but the tedium of uniformity out at Usrique had exhausted him. Nothing to do with the labor—he was used to that kind of stuff.

Lou thought it was pretty easy to get lost in the city. All buildings looked the same. They were all man-made. Terrain wasn't. If anybody thought they'd easily get lost in these hills, he'd look at them like they were crazy. Because they were crazy. He didn't need a map for any of this. Each little bit of land had character. Moods. Birthmarks. Idiosyncrasies, like people. He didn't need a map to get through any of this, not as long as he had north, south, east, and west, and he didn't understand why anybody did.

And so he made it back to his spot at the crater rim fairly easily, fairly quickly. He found his tent still there, right where he left it… darker with rain-smeared dirt and a few more holes than he remembered, but still there. Smiling, he ducked inside and took the stack of photos out of his pocket and put them back on the ground next to the sheets, also still there.

So was his radio. There it stood on the table, gleaming in the vigor of his eyes, his best possession, his most steadfast companion.

Finally he'd gotten back.

And there were a million different places he could begin.

For one he could stick around for a little while just to see if this shallow part of the crater had as little in the name of dinosaur bones as he thought. Then he could get some scuba gear and go out to the water half of it. For sure nobody had ever done that before. He never thought he'd be grateful for growing up in L.A., but at least it had taught him everything he needed to know about living like an amphibian. Skiing, surfing, diving, all that jazz. It looked like he'd find a way to use every bit of it.

His eyes refocused on the radio before he allowed himself to get too carried away. Lou wasn't the type to exaggerate, and he hadn't been playing the caves up when he'd said they were dangerous. The mystery girl and the weird guy needed help.

Immediately he fiddled with the radio until he arrived at Henrik's station. "Rex calling Dutchman. Please pick up, old man," he muttered to himself. "I don't have a cell phone."

"Dutchman here," answered a familiar English accent. "And for the record, I'm sixty-four. I consider myself old, but I thought I'd offer you the facts before you reached your conclusions."

"I'm outta Usrique," said Lou. "Yeah, they were doing illegal stuff. But that's not why I called you. Those two friends of yours, I just dropped them off at Loltun Cave. Everybody else is still at the site. I think there's enough to prove what's going on there. We all saw it, for one thing. That's got to count for something."

"Hmmm," said Henrik. It was very difficult to tell what he was thinking or feeling just by his tone. He held people at arms' length just by talking. Lou hoped he wasn't mad because he'd done everything he asked him to do. And the old man was too valuable of a contact to lose. "Was the environment stable when you left?"

"Nope. Apparently they had a discussion in the other tent with some diggers they suspected. From your team."

Henrik sighed. "That sounds bad. And frankly I don't have time to deal with bad. I guess I'll have to make time, then. Are the diplomats there yet?"

"Diplomats?" Lou's head jerked back in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"Well I see that the communication there has been just stellar," he said, mild amusement evident in his tone. "There are diplomats coming out. Apparently black market activity is bad all over the country, and it's making all of the other countries think it's just a bit unfair for them to get away with it. From your surprise, it's clear that they haven't arrived yet."

"No. This place is just as empty as it always is."

"Are you near any of the roads?"

"No."

"Then maybe you're not as qualified to make that judgment."

"Look, I just got back from Tekax, and nothing was going on there."

"Any word on the street there?"

"I was in and out. Just to drop off the car before the people at the site could find me and bitch at me for taking it."

"I hope for their sake that you're living under a rock and they're close." Henrik paused. "In the meanwhile, I've got to get people out there to help in case they aren't. Stay close by. I'm going to make some phone calls. Over and out."

Lou rolled his eyes and turned off the HAM radio. Of course it would have killed Henrik to say thank you. He knew he didn't need to, and it would kill him to do anything he didn't need to. Lou owed Henrik for all of the spots he'd told him about so he could work and stay here. He knew it, Henrik knew it, and they were both past heartfelt gratitude. It was just what was scholars trying to make a living did for one another.

For the moment he lay back on the pile of sheets and looked through his photos for the millionth time. Maybe Henrik would call him back, but it was more likely he wouldn't. Now he needed to get a move on on all of this other stuff. Regarding Usrique, he'd done what he could. Now it was up to the rest of them.

* * *

From his office, Henrik tried calling Nancy to no avail. Then Sonny Joon.

Nothing.

Right. Wherever they were, they probably didn't have signal. It hadn't even occurred to him; last time he was in Mexico, cell phones hadn't been around yet.

He remembered Jamila and tried calling her next. She'd only gotten back to him after a few days the first time and didn't follow up, so she proved herself none too reliable, but she was his last hope.

She didn't answer.

He tried again.

And again.

He frowned.

Four more times.

Finally he wasn't greeted with voicemail. "Who is this?" asked an irate English-tinged voice.

"This is Henrik Van Der Hune," he said, rather taken-aback. "Don't you have my number?"

"Didn't recognize it from your last call. And, of course, Sonny didn't give it to me," she replied with thinly-veiled exasperation.

"I was just calling in to make sure you told him what I said. I never received a follow-up call."

"Yeah," Jamila said. "I apologize. Very busy last couple of days. I didn't have the time."

"Uh…" In all honesty, Henrik didn't know how to respond to this. Apparently the looming threat of blowing Nancy's and Sonny's cover wasn't a big deal to her. It sounded a bit… flaky. He had hoped Sonny's alien friend wouldn't be crazy by some miracle. Now he just felt silly for hoping so. "Well, did you?"

"Of course I did. Has the situation gotten any worse?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"I understand you've been busy. Have you been checking regularly?"

Henrik bristled. "As the person who sent them there with some of my own colleagues, I bear a certain responsibility in ensuring all their safeties."

"Wait. You're the one who sent them there?"

"Yes," Henrik replied after a few seconds. Indubitably she was crazy.

"Oh!" she said. "See, Sonny never told me that. He just gave me your number and said, 'This guy might call you.'"

Understanding dawned on Henrik. He suppressed a Sonny-induced sigh. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is. I'd apologize on his behalf, but I really don't feel like it today."

A ghost of a smile rose on Henrik's face. A comrade. "Understood," he said. Then he remembered how he'd been unable to contact her. "I must ask," he began tentatively. How to open the topic without a blow-up? Admittedly Henrik didn't much care about honoring other people's feelings over truth, but assuaging her potential irritation would take time he didn't have. "Where have you been the past few days? Not that I care to hear your personal affairs, but you're missing out on some important—"

"I've been dealing with a family emergency," Jamila cut across.

"Oh." Henrik stuttered and blinked several times. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, it isn't my family emergency," she said quickly. "It's a… friend's."

"I see," Henrik replied, even though he didn't. "I've called you for a specific reason. Two, actually. The diplomats who are conducting investigations of their own are likely in Mexico by this point. I can only imagine they're headed to Usrique now and if not now, soon, certainly."

"Well, perhaps you should let Sonny know he needs to hurry. I'll call him when I can."

Henrik's mouth tightened. He did not have time for this. Of course, he couldn't say that. "In light of your situation," he began carefully, "I would under normal circumstances be happy to. However, I figured it would be safer for you to contact him. I have some contacts in the area who could be traced back to me."

"Good point," she said succinctly. "That it would. Suppose I'll call him, then."

She didn't sound like she had an abundance of time, either.

"Look, if that's all, I need to go. To be honest, I've got a lot on my hands right now," Jamila said, confirming Henrik's impression.

Candor and brevity. Promising traits, even for the colleague of an alien believer. Probably an alien believer herself. Oh well, Henrik thought. He'd seen far stranger things in his lifetime. Remembering he wasn't finished, Henrik spoke. "That isn't all, I'm afraid. There was a bit of a skirmish at the site. Sonny and Nancy are both gone."

"Oh," Jamila replied. "Wish Sonny would call with updates once in awhile. Do you happen to know where they're headed?"

Less of a reaction than he'd expected. Then again, Jamila worked often with Sonny; perhaps he did his disappearing acts on a regular basis. It was easy to talk to this woman, Henrik noted, while not easy to talk to Sonny. How she was able to talk to Sonny was beyond him. "Loltun Cave according to a friend of mine."

"A friend of yours?"

"Lou Talbot."

"Was he at the site with them?"

"Yes."

A harsh sigh came from the other end of the line. "Sonny needs to do a better job of keeping me in the loop. I'm going to have to talk to him. Again."

"Good luck getting him to listen."

"I'll try to get Nancy to tell him. He listens to what she says."

"Yes," Henrik chuckled. "I got that sense too."

"Whom else did you send?"

"Two colleagues of mine and an acquaintance. Names Holly Klee, Alexander Norgaard, and Richard Reeves, for your information."

"And are they safe?"

"As far as I know."

"All right," she said, sounding weary. "Thanks. I'll book the next available flight."

"I'm not sure that that's necessary—" Henrik began reluctantly. He supposed her strange "family" situation entitled her to an out. But someone needed to be down there.

"Sonny never does things the easy way. He's not going to answer his phone. I mean, of course I'll call him, but he isn't going to answer. Why he's trying to get Jin to get a cell phone when he barely answers his own, I don't know," she continued heatedly.

"Who is Jin?" Henrik asked, confusion overriding his relief.

"Never mind that. I am going to fly down there and get in contact with the authorities. If Sonny and Nancy are gone, that means their cover is blown, and, knowing them, if their cover is blown, they have enough evidence for the authorities, and since their cover is blown, the authorities' presence can't hurt them now." said Jamila. "Did you hear anything about Dylan, by any chance?"

"Dylan?" Henrik repeated.

"Damn it, Sonny," she muttered. "Dylan Carter. English tour guide. He had him looking into black market activity."

"I didn't hear anything."

"Great," she said darkly. "Have to get down there and make sure he's not dead. Aren't things a mess."

"Certainly seems like it."

"Thanks, Henrik. I have to go." She hung up without waiting for a goodbye.

That wasn't so bad, Henrik thought. At least some of Sonny's friends who were looking out for him had more sense than he did. With that he got back to work, sensing that his role in this chaotic plan was over or nearly so. Yet he couldn't help but smile. For a few minutes at least he'd re-experienced his days in the 70's, traipsing about the Yucatán region with long hair and ideals of a balanced world and an afrotastic sidekick with an aversion to psychedelic tea.

* * *

Jamila dropped her phone into her purse and closed the latch-lock with a sour glare on her face. Her patience had expired days ago. Mostly it was the lack of sleep, the trying to get ahold of Chin-Sun and convince her that _yes_ , her father was dying and this wasn't just his histrionics, and the knowledge that Sonny would not answer his phone yet of course when she got there he would still ask her, "Why didn't you just call me?"

And then she'd try her best not to talk to him like he was four years old, since he hated that. Not that it was her responsibility to tiptoe around him. She just wasn't in the mood for his sulking.

She stood and patted Jin's wrist. "I'm going to find your grandson."

"Sonny?" Jin's eyes brightened. This was one of his better days. He'd been lucid for the last few hours and holding.

"Yes. The one who never listens. To anyone."

"Will you bring him to me?" He looked so tiny, so young, that Jamila felt another ripple of rage for what would be another stressor in her life, the realization that she cared about Jin more than she even thought which would make for a few miserable days after he crossed the bar.

"Yes, Jin," she said. "I promise."

Tears came to his eyes then.

"Keep holding on," she said quietly, turning to leave. "Just a little longer. I'm so sorry about the timing of this."

"You remind me so much of Chin-Sun," he replied, barely audibly.

She froze with her back to him.

"She was everything you'd want in a daughter. Honest. Smart. Independent. Never held anything back. Never let anything stop her. She knew what she wanted, and she went after it. She wouldn't fail. She brought Sonny up all by herself. His father left a very long time ago."

Jamila didn't want to hear this. She never knew her grandparents. She barely knew her parents. Sonny had been the first person outside of the Order she could call a friend. But she gritted her teeth and bore it.

"Just knowing you was like being able to relive my life," he continued. "The second time with her approval."

Suddenly then Jamila became angry at Sonny for what seemed the millionth time in the past few days. Chin-Sun Joon had abandoned Jin out of anger from feeling missed out on his adventures, from his absence in her childhood. Now Sonny was doing the same thing, abandoning him when he needed him most, except for the opposite reason—being too invested in Jin's adventures rather than not invested at all. To the point where he valued them over him, where those became more central to his life than his own family. Chin-Sun chose her life over Jin. So had Sonny, it seemed, ironically enough.

Jin's life was rife enough with loss.

She rubbed her temples. That wasn't fair of her. She wasn't thinking clearly anymore. "Thank you, Jin," she said, acknowledging him by turning her head to the side. "That means a lot to me."

"Thank you, Jamila, for bringing light back into my life." Jin's eyes were glassy, but now they held a twinkle. "I haven't been so happy since the day Sonny was born."

She walked toward the door that led out to the hallway in Rhode Island Hospital, afraid. These were deathbed confessions.

She shouldn't be the one hearing them.

"Hold on, Jin," she said, holding the knob. "I'll come back with Sonny. And Chin-Sun."

"Jamila—"

She started. "Yes?" she asked loudly and abruptly, turning toward him again.

"Hurry."


	23. Chapter 23

"You ready for this?" Sonny asked. They'd made it to the cave entrance by dawn.

"Are you good at not getting lost?" Nancy replied, eyes traveling up all twelve feet of the mouth.

"Eh, no. Not really."

"Then no, but I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be." She adjusted her backpack strap on her shoulder. "I'm okay with maps, but not when we don't know where to go."

"It's not as fun if you don't get lost at least once," noted Sonny.

"Kind of doubt that. If we get lost, we die."

"I doubt it's as black and white as all that. All the same, be careful."

Nancy scoffed. " _You're_ telling _me_ that?"

"Sure. Never hurts to be cautious." He stepped inside. "I hate to rush you, but we're on a deadline now. And as for where in the cave," his voice took on a lyrical tone, "I have an idea."

"An idea?" Nancy repeated. The notion made her skeptical.

"Mmmm-hmmm." He grinned and tilted his head at her. "C'mon."

"By idea, do you mean idea, or a shot in the dark?" she asked as she followed him.

"I'm guessing it's on the other part of that tablet we didn't see. You know, everything outside the corner." He said, trailing his hand along one of the walls. "And if this is what I think it is, it's going to be in the very center."

"That seems too easy," said Nancy.

"It does, doesn't it?" He glanced at her. "But there was a part of the ziggurat that Sitchin called the control tower. And that rose out of the center."

Nancy's head turned back to the entrance with apprehension. It was getting harder and harder to see. "Sonny, there are miles of cave in here. Maybe we should come back when we know. It's not like Claire is going to come here. She's just after the artifacts."

"But I actually have an idea." The corners of his mouth drooped. "Look, I won't get us lost. I promise. We'll just keep track of all of the turns we take. We'll make our own map. And then we'll always be able to know how to find our way out."

Nancy stopped. "You're sure it's in the center?" she asked. "Usually it seems like it'd be in the very back."

"Let me run it by you." Sonny turned to her. "It's part of the pattern I've been studying for the past few years. Sumer's the mother of all these other ancient civilizations. It predated everybody. I saw some concrete similarities in the artifacts we found. First there's the saying 'road whose course does not turn back,' which you say is a coincidence. But also, I've been studying the pictures. Remember when I said that the gods on the slab weren't Mayan? They're not. They're Sumerian. One of the gods was in the likeness of the goddess Inanna and depicted a story that I've never heard told outside of Sumerian folklore. Her journey to the underworld. And," he held out his hands and spun around, "look where we are!"

"Is this in your thesis?" Nancy asked as they walked further in. The air immediately became cooler, dryer.

"Yeah, but just in a paragraph or two." Sonny snapped immediately back on track. "She needed seven things to get there, and she gave each of them away to someone as she descended. First was her helmet. Then something over her ears that looked like spoons or earmuffs. Then a sapphire necklace. Then shoulder pads, a gold can or cylinder, straps that held a box on her back, and finally her clothes."

"And you think this happened?"

"I don't know if it happened."

"You're sure we're looking for something?"

"Bear with me," he said with understanding. "There's the Sumerian saying. The Sumerian gods on the artifact. Even if the Annunaki aren't real, they're real to them. Were real to them," he amended. "Some of them. This could be some sort of tribute site if they believed the stories."

Nancy heard something. She looked behind them. "You looked up the tour times, right? When does the first group arrive?"

"Eight."

Nancy took out her phone. "And it's… 5:57."

"Good. Gives us a couple of hours to get good and lost so they won't find us."

Nancy listened for the sound again.

It didn't come.

"Must've been the wind or something," she said to herself. One last time she peered outside of the cave. None of the grass or plants moved.

She frowned but turned again and jogged to catch up with Sonny, who was already far ahead. "How are we going to get to the center?" she asked. Soon the question proved to be a good one as they came to a split.

Sonny bent sideways to look at the one that curved around, going left and veering right. "Let's try left," he said decidedly.

"Got a feeling?" Nancy asked, although a second later she remembered she already knew the answer.

"Yeah. Don't worry. I'm writing it down."

"Good. And then give me the piece of paper so you don't—"

Sonny grinned and held up the back of his right hand for her to see. On it, right below the knuckle of his middle finger, was a small red L.

"Good idea." She hoisted her backpack in front of her and took a pen from it, writing the same on her left hand. Then she got out a piece of paper. "In case one or both of us rinses our hands without remembering," she said.

"You don't mess around."

"Better not to, when this is what we're up against," she said simply. "You know, I really hope this cave isn't booby trapped. Always seems to happen to me."

Sonny murmured a response, squinting at rock about fifty feet in front of them where the cave must have turned abruptly.

"Not that it would be, since we're dealing with technology that's thousands of years old—"

"You'd be surprised," Sonny put in, still looking forward.

"Reassuring," Nancy replied.

"Isn't it?" his eyes finally darted away. He tilted his head and grinned at her.

"Either way, way too tired for something like that. So let's be careful. I wish I had more time to look into the area and see what our biggest obstacles are."

"Well, the cenotes are basically sinkholes. So that might be something."

Nancy stopped, pursing her lips. "Hmmm."

"Hey, they were formed a long time ago," Sonny said. "Just keep an eye out. I'm sure we'll be fine."

As they continued, Nancy got a distinct sense of foreboding. The most irksome thing about those feelings was that she couldn't tell if she should look behind, if someone was following them, or ahead, if some sort of trap lay just around the corner. These feelings were always too vague. Of course they mostly proved to be accurate eventually, but they were seldom helpful, and they only made her nervous without giving her any direction. "Who knows we're here?" she asked. "No one, right?"

"No one!" Sonny repeated too cheerfully.

"You didn't call Jamila?"

"Nope!"

"Shouldn't you have called her?"

"Maybe."

Her mouth tightened.

"Lou knows where we are," Sonny said, almost as if he could see her. But he was still looking ahead.

"He does his own thing. You think he's going to help us?"

"He will. He's trustworthy."

"You're determined to kill both of us here, aren't you?"

Shock filled Sonny's face. "No!" he said emphatically. "Geez, Nancy. If there's any real risk of dying, I'm not gonna stick around."

"Not even to find what you're looking for?"

"Of course not! We die, and there's nothing left to believe. Or act on. I like dangerous, not deadly."

"Lots of times, dangerous is deadly."

"Quick thinking can get you out of a lot of tight spots."

"I see," Nancy said without missing a beat. "And how many times have people had to rescue you?"

"Probably a bunch," he shrugged. "Why?"

"Because you're not too useful in a bind."

"Ouch."

This conversation mollified Nancy. Or maybe it did. Some part of her felt dismayed.

"All right." Nancy surveyed the space with her hands on her hips. "Try not to press anything or step on anything that looks suspicious."

"What does suspicious look like?"

"I don't know," she said, not wanting to explain herself, "just… let me know, I guess."

"Don't I always?"

"Well just keep doing it."

"Okay."

A good amount of time passed, as well as a good amount of turns. Nancy checked her phone. 8:07. "The first tour group's here," she said. "Or if they're not, they will be soon."

"Okay," said Sonny, and nothing else.

The funny feeling if being followed dispersed with time, and it was no longer as potent. She had just started to forget it until…

"Nancy?"

"What?"

"I can't move my feet."

She looked down to the ground and found that they'd stepped into sand deep enough to almost cover their shoes. In alarm she tried to jump back, hoping that Sonny had stepped in a patch and she could pull him out from solid ground.

No such luck.

Sonny kept pulling. "What is this, quicksand?"

"Yeah. And don't do that. It'll make you sink deeper."

He stopped abruptly. "Doesn't quicksand kill you?"

"In cheap matinee flicks, yes." Nancy looked ahead, trying to determine where the quicksand ended and the ground began. If she knew how far they had to go, it would help. "In real life, no."

"Oh, so you sink and somehow don't die?" His voice was level, but he spoke more quickly.

"No. Not sure if you've noticed, but it isn't that deep. Quicksand usually isn't."

"I'm sorry about this. Was legitimately not expecting quicksand."

"Don't apologize. It's hardly your fault."

"Yeah, well, still not dying today. Once we get out, we can keep an eye out for quicksand. Or a foot, rather. Or a stick. Yeah, a stick. It doesn't matter if the stick gets stuck."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Huh." He attempted to shift and look around him. "Well, we could always shout for help. But I don't think we need to."

"We don't need to," Nancy agreed adamantly. "There are ways to get out of this. It might take a while, but we don't need to turn back. Get rid of the backpacks."

Nancy threw hers backward.

Sonny looked at her, confused.

"We'll figure out some way to get across," Nancy said. Because I can't handle the curiosity if we don't, she added to herself. "We don't know how far ahead of us the quicksand goes. Don't want the backpacks stuck."

Reluctantly Sonny tossed his backpack next to hers.

"Good. Now wriggle your feet around."

"You just told me not to do that."

"Horizontally. Move them horizontally. Before you were trying to step out of it, so you were pushing against the ground—in this case, sand—and probably digging yourself in deeper."

"And what afterward if that doesn't work?"

"That's not going to happen."

"You sure about that?"

"Just try it. It'll take a while, but this stuff's a foot deep. We just have to work at it."

They tried it for a few minutes with little improvement, although Nancy felt a little bit of movement.

At some point Sonny stopped and sighed, tired. They stopped moving for a few minutes. Nancy noticed that they weren't entirely parallel to each other when walking forward, that she had been turned slightly inward toward him, and him toward her.

Maybe if they worked on turning inward, the sand would loosen more quickly, at least around their outer feet.

Or maybe, she thought, annoyed with herself, that it was distracting wishful thinking.

Sonny seemed to notice the same thing. For a second he shifted from foot to foot, forgetting for that second that they were both stuck. He scratched his ear and proceeded to start fidgeting for the next few minutes.

"What is it?" Nancy asked tiredly.

"What's what?" He asked. The slight tremor in his voice overpowered any attempt at nonchalance, Nancy noticed.

"What do you want to say?"

"What do you mean, what do I want to say?" His voice rose slightly in pitch.

"I mean, your fidgeting is annoying me." She paused, trying to collect her patience. "If you're afraid the quicksand's going to do us in, it's not."

"Is isn't that..." he began, craning his head downward. His eyes flickered up to meet Nancy's for a fraction of a second. His face seemed to blend in with the darkness.

Was he... blushing?

Finally, after another few agonizing minutes, he spoke. "Nancy, when we get out of here—" He leaned closer.

So did she. "Yes?" she asked.

"Can I have some of your Koko Kringles?"

Nancy bolted back. "What kind of a question is that?"

"A serious one."

"You can have all the Koko Kringle you want!" Nancy balled her hands into fists. "I hate them!"

Sonny whirled around, eyes wide. "What?! But how can—"

"Because I ate too many of them and became grievously sick, okay?"

"Oh, dear. Everything in moderation." Sonny leaned in again confidentially. "How old were you? Six? Seven?"

Nancy winced. "Eighteen."

Sonny froze. "Eighteen?" he repeated.

"This creepy old woman in New Orleans had a whole case full of them in her nightstand. And then she tried to lock me up in a crypt. I got mad, I was tired, I was soaked from getting rained on the past few hours, I love chocolate—or at least I thought I did—and I was there, and the candy was there…"

Sonny nodded sagely. "Revenge is sweet… in more ways than one."

"Yeah," she said with a puff of air, "tell me about it."

Nancy went back to trying to free her feet.

"Nancy?"

"Yeah?"

"I also was wondering, um, if you'd want to go out with me sometime."

Sharply she looked up at him. "Go out? Like, on a date?"

"Does 'go out' mean anything else?"

Her eyes moved sideways. "You don't need to be sarcastic."

"No sarcasm. I'm genuinely curious."

"Does go out mean anything else?" she repeated, going back to his second question and ignoring that it was rhetorical. "I don't think so. And to answer your question, yes, Sonny, I would like that."

"Great!" she could hear his wide, excited smile. "Oh, and I don't actually need any of your Koko Kringles."

"I figured," she said with a smile of her own.

"And I don't know," he said, trying again to move his feet. "Probably should tell you that I'm kind of clueless in relationships, but I don't know maybe, you, we, me, uh, give it a shot." Sonny's voice trailed off in the dark. "I know for you I'd put some thought into things."

Nancy laughed. "You're terrible at relationships? I'm away all of the time. I promise you, I'm worse." She froze, realizing what she'd just said. Somewhere along the road she'd become so comfortable around him that she spoke without thinking about it first. "Offer still stand?" she asked, trying her best to sound like she was joking. It'd been so long since she'd dealt with entering a relationship with somebody, and she was so rusty…

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it?"

Her shoulders, holding a tension she didn't know she had, relaxed.

"Equal footing is always nice." He continued. Pause. "Speaking of which, we should probably figure out this current predicament."

"I'm feeling the sand start to give a bit," Nancy began, "But what if the tour group comes around here?"

Sonny froze. She guessed he hadn't thought of that.

And now she heard some far-off sound that might've been whistling, whether from air or a human voice she couldn't tell yet.

She turned to Sonny as much as she could without moving her feet. Even then, she felt the sand start to give. "There might be another opening to the cave."

"Really?" His eyebrows shot up over his frames. "What makes you say that?"

She raised her head, eyes going sideways towards the sound. "Listen."

He tilted his head. "It sounds like a person," he said.

Now that it was closer, Nancy agreed. A female voice.

Young.

Some tuneless humming floated to Nancy's ear. It wouldn't have been out of the ordinary—aside from the oddity of anybody else being this far out—but she knew that melody.

"I don't hear voices," Nancy whispered. "Just the one."

"Sounds like someone wandered away from the tour group," he said, agreeing. "We've got to get out of this." He wriggled his feet along with the rest of his body, trying to loosen the sand around his ankles. Along the way he forgot what she said and started moving vertically rather than horizontally.

Nancy placed a hand on his forearm. "We're not going to get out in time," she told him. "We'll just hope she takes a turn and goes away from us."

"At least we can try."

"Don't dig yourself in any deeper. This is annoying enough as it is."

"Fine. You be calm. I'll focus on using my—oof—" he lurched forward— "well-founded fear as a momentum."

"Look, whoever it is, they're not with the tour group anymore. Probably left intentionally. They might not rat us out."

"Fine." Sonny stopped. "I trust your judgment."

Nancy didn't know why she felt like glowing after he said that, but she did.

The humming came close.

They waited, still.

Luck was not on their side today. A girl with shoulder-length blonde hair stepped into view, still humming. When she saw them she stopped short. "Oh," she said, face contorting into an amalgamation of disappointment and disgust. "You're going to tell on me."

Nancy's eyes popped. "Jane?" she sputtered. "Jane _Penvellyn_?"

Jane stepped forward, squinting for a second. Then her own eyes widened. "Nancy?" she asked tentatively.

"What are you doing in Mexico?"

"My dad's the ambassador. What are you doing in Mexico?"

"Digging. Long story."

The mistrust returned. "Are you going to tell on me?"

"Well, I can't exactly," Nancy admitted.

Jane followed her eyes down to her ankles. The rest disappeared under the dirt. "Oh," she said again. "I suppose you want to get out, then."

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, anyway?" she said as she approached.

Nancy and Sonny exchanged glances. "Breaking the rules," she said. "More or less."

Jane broke into a grin.

"Can you get us out of here?" Nancy asked, a bit impatiently.

Abruptly the grin left, replaced with some inscrutable dark expression. "You won't tell on me?" she asked, almost as if that was what was troubling her. But Nancy knew it wasn't. Not for something that dark across her face. The question was a distraction. "As long as you rejoin your tour group," Nancy said. "It's dangerous in here. Very easy to get lost."

Jane crossed her arms. "Like you did?" she asked.

"I'm not lost. I just got stuck. And now I need a rope or something."

Her face became more imperious in the piercing quality of her blue eyes and definition of her high cheekbones. In that moment she carried her Penvellyn heritage, every one of her ancestors. She looked regal, like the medieval lords and ladies her ancestors were.

Honor was something held highly in medieval times. This was visible on her face, and only then did Nancy remember that she had saved Jane's life. Now Jane felt she needed to repay the life debt.

Nancy peered at Jane. When Jane averted her eyes with a bit of a scowl, Nancy saw she was right. And while she didn't care about the repayment of any life debt, it would be nice to get out of the sand, she thought.

"I have a rope," said Sonny, distracting them both.

"You have a rope?" Nancy asked, turning toward him as much as the sand would allow. "Why?"

"For situations like this," Sonny said blankly. "Are you complaining about it?"

"No!" she snapped, frustrated. "But why didn't you say something?"

"Didn't seem particularly useful before. What would I do with a rope in the middle of quicksand?"

"I... argh," Nancy said. Quickly she tried to formulate a better response.

"Toss me the rope," Jane interjected. "I don't have all day."

"It's actually in my backpack. The green one."

"Wait." Nancy interrupted. "You promise you'll rejoin your group?"

Jane sighed exaggeratedly and rolled her whole head with her eyes. " _Yes_." She knelt and unzipped Sonny's backpack. After finding it, she straightened and took one end of the rope, preparing to throw. "Catch."

"Careful it doesn't get in the sand," Nancy warned just as Jane threw it.

Fortunately Nancy caught it. It took a few minutes, but she was able to safely make it back to the side they'd started on. Jane gave her the end of the rope, which Nancy then threw to Sonny.

Sonny, though, opted to keep going forward in the opposite direction. His knees shifted alternately as he tried to move his feet.

"What are you doing?" Nancy asked him. She turned to Jane. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much. You don't have to stick around."

"I want to," she said lightly. "What are you up to? It's much more exciting than some tour."

"It's also very dangerous, Jane."

These words did not have the intended effect. "Oooh!" she said as she brightened.

"Jane, there's something else," Nancy said after some consideration. She needed to get rid of Jane, and she trusted her to be able to help. "A lot of bad stuff going on at Usrique, the dig site forty-five minutes west of Tekax. Ask your father to get the authorities down there immediately. It's really important."

"Oh, all right," she said. Her smile disappeared, but Nancy could tell that she would do what she was asked.

After she'd scampered off, Nancy returned her attention to Sonny, who had finally given up on trying to move his feet.

But now he was untying his shoes.

"Oh, Sonny, no," Nancy pleaded exasperatedly. "You'll be walking the rest of the way in your bare feet!"

"I don't care." He tried to shimmy out of them, pumping his knees again. "And you won't have to listen to me complain about it, if that's what you're worried about."

"Give it up!" she said. "Do you honestly think there's anything on the others side? Why would the Mayans want to cross quicksand every day to get to their place in the cave, wherever it is?"

"Because maybe they're as crazy as I am?" Sonny joked with a smile. "They were here a long time ago. Maybe the quicksand is relatively new. Or," a new idea appeared on his faraway face, "they probably had something here to get across and now it's gone because it's been such a long time. But if you think of the symbolism…"

"If we cross the quicksand and there isn't a way out, how are we going to get back across?"

"We'll improvise."

"Is that your answer to everything?"

"Nancy, after that first sharp curve right this path went sharp left and has been going the same direction, relatively straight. I think it's going to lead right to the middle. And honestly, I think that the quicksand shows we're going in the right direction. If something's really here, right in the center of the cave, it seems like somebody would have found it by now. But not if they had to put up with quicksand. They would've stopped and turned back. But this road has a course…" he trailed off, expecting her to finish the thought.

She did, at least in her mind. This logic made a little sense, she had to admit.

Meanwhile, Sonny had gone two more steps in his socks. Undeterred, he rolled them down to the surface of the sand and tried to slip out of those, too.

Nancy winced. "This is really risky."

"If it doesn't work out, there's the rope. Or you can get hel—" he got cut off as he lost his balance and fell forward.

Nancy started. Then saw to her delight that his ankles were out of the dirt. He must have reached the end of the quicksand in his socks. "You're free!" she exclaimed.

"I'm also all right. Not that that, you know, matters."

"A landslide couldn't kill you," Nancy replied straightly, refusing to fall prey to his fishing for sympathy. Maybe someday she would, but today he was annoying the hell out of her.

"If you're afraid of the danger—" he began, getting up and brushing himself off.

"I'm not afraid of the danger," Nancy said quickly. "I'm afraid of us not finding anything."

"Well, I'm thinking about the danger for one thing. And 'improvise' in this instance means dropping the backpacks and using those as stepping stones on the way back. Look, the stretch of quicksand is about three or four feet long. That's it."

That seemed satisfactory. "Honestly, I don't even care about the answer to that question," she admitted. "I'm just not sure whether—"

"—we're going to find anything," he finished. "Yes, that's a possibility, but I promise we aren't going to get killed for it."

Nancy nodded and gripped the rope. "You holding on?"

"Yep. Come across. I've got you."

Against her better judgment, she jumped. The force would push her feet in deeper, but now she was impatient. She landed in a spot just behind where Sonny had been when he fell. Even at the end of the quicksand, pulling her feet out turned out to be extremely exerting. By the time she got to the other side she was stopped over, red-faced, panting.

"Here." Sonny slung an arm around her shoulder and they slid down the wall of the cave. "Time for a break."

For a little while, Nancy was so exhausted that it didn't register that they'd made it to the other side. As she slowly came to realize it, a spark of excitement jolted through her. One step closer.

They sat without saying anything, Nancy catching her breath and Sonny looking out contemplatively over the sand they'd just crossed. After a minute or two, Nancy stood.

"Feeling better?"

"Never feeling bad. Just a little winded." Nancy wrote a Q on her hand and the paper and continued forward. Again the craving for an answer overtook her. The muscles in her throat tightened, and she hoped against hope that they'd come away with one.

Otherwise she'd be caught in limbo for a long, long time.


	24. Chapter 24

Dylan didn't think that something as simple as waiting could drive him insane. Growing up, he'd never heard the old adage "Patience is a virtue." He hadn't heard it until much later in his life, when it was too late for him to change his habits. He didn't like waiting. He liked living in the moment, which the travel did for him.

This was the middle of nowhere, cut off from modern civilization. That's why he liked these sites—to get away from modern trivialities—but for once he wished he were closer to somewhere, anywhere. He checked his phone compulsively. Nothing from nobody. Lou didn't have one, but he lived out here.

He'd heard nothing from Nancy and Sonny.

What was scarier was that he had a vision of them disappearing, forever. Neither seemed like the type to live to a ripe old age.

And that worried him.

Dylan knew he wasn't the type, either, but they were younger than he was. It still worried him.

Speaking of not surviving things… Dylan's thoughts moved to the three captives at the site. The diggers were getting antsy. They wanted to do away with them. And Dylan had people skills. He could negotiate. But he was no diplomat. He couldn't keep things from escalating forever.

In fact, he couldn't keep things from escalating for very much longer.

Had Nancy or Sonny made it to the police? he wondered. Or Lou, for that matter?

He had hidden extra copies of the provenance records, but José hadn't been able to get to them before the diggers overtook him. And the diggers weren't thinking about the documents or artifacts at all. Instead their eyes, ears, and sixth senses were hooked on the three leaders like they were afraid they'd shimmy out of their binds and start exercising their authority again, somehow overpowering numbers six or seven times their size, this time worse because they were angry. Beltrán, Claire, and José must have been horrible to earn this fear out of reasonable people. After working with them for a few weeks he knew they were a quiet bunch, but he could also make that call.

He felt even sorrier. What for him was a jumpstart to a new tour location were these people's lives. They'd tied Beltrán, Claire, and José up. They hadn't burned the evidence. They would not go to jail. Dylan would make sure of that somehow.

And as for his continuing tour career? Yes, Yucután would be fine. It was a little farther from London than he was accustomed to. Maybe, if he could have his choice, in some dark place underground, though. After all this work he was sick of the heat. He was sick of the sun. Yet at some point he still wanted to get back to Egypt. Do things right.

At that point his attention wandered. Holly, Alexander, and Richard, the other three members of his team, hunched close together and muttered. Dylan hadn't remembered them ever to be friends, but they probably felt they had nobody else to depend on in the turmoil.

Quickly he looked back to the diggers and their captives. Things seemed under control.

He stepped over to them.

As if this was the catalyst they needed they broke apart abruptly, sending him expressions ranging from confused to livid.

"What is going on?" Richard asked him. "Yesterday we're dragged out of our beds in the middle of the night for a talk. For them to accuse us of stuff we had no idea was going on. Today this is going on?"

"Things are more complicated than they seem, I guess," said Dylan.

Alexander's lips pressed together. "Do you know what is going on?"

"I don't know a lot." Dylan shifted his head sideways. "And I don't want to talk about it right now. Things are a little volatile."

Although Alexander, thankfully, seemed satisfied by this, Richard opened his mouth to reply.

"I don't know why agreed to this dig," Holly muttered bitterly at the same time. "Mid-life crisis?" she scoffed. "Cynical about university politics? Wanting to get back to my roots, so to speak? This entire experience has been inconceivable. I'll be happy never to leave my office again. Now at least I know it's bad on all levels."

"I think I've had it with traveling," Richard agreed.

Alexander didn't say anything, but his face said it all.

It was on the edge of Dylan's tongue to tell them otherwise, to advise them to give it another go, but somehow he knew his words would be wasted on them even before speaking. When looking at them Dylan saw most people in the world, the people who'd dream about adventure and then after age seven or so forget they ever did. They'd live ordinary lives. He himself had almost been caught in that trap. He'd almost settled for tame pleasure. But a few veered off, for better or for worse. He, Sonny, Nancy did. Jamila did.

And right after that thought, right on cue, came a tremendous roar of engines from the hill nearest the cars. Only something told him that these weren't their cars.

A slew of Mexican policemen flew in, presence prefigured by the mass squealing of tires. "This is it," a female voice hurled itself into the din. "People have been digging here illegally. And selling on the sly."

They came up over the hill, thirty-five to fifty of them.

Some of the others tried to run. The policemen raced after them, hot in pursuit, leaving one figure who appeared behind them all. He thought he'd seen the swirl of scarves behind their suits, so colorful and free. It further clashed against the sand when the men skittered away in opposite directions around the hill.

Jamila El-Dine.

Dylan smiled.

She didn't see him right away as she took out her phone. In fact, she noticed close to nothing, which she didn't really mind. This was in Mexico's hands now, and Nancy and Sonny were still missing. That was her priority.

"We're here," Jamila said as soon as Henrik picked up. "At the site. They're making arrests. Collecting evidence. You need to contact the governor. She needs to be involved. I'd do it myself, but I doubt she'd pick up the phone for me. You've talked to her before."

"Several times," Henrik affirmed.

"Right. Well, they wanted to know how I knew, and—oh," she said in surprise, turning to face the sudden noise behind her. "There are other people here."

"Other people?"

"They look like… diplomats?" she tried to make sense of their smartly-dressed figures, so out of place amidst the workers. "Never mind. I'm not concerned about it. So they—the police, that is—need to know about the investigation. For one thing, to be assured of our immunity. I don't want to spend any time in jail, and I doubt any of the rest of us does either."

"I'll do it as soon as I'm off the phone with you."

"I've not heard from Sonny," she continued. "But according to the diplomat who apparently also contacted the authorities, Nancy and Sonny made it in and are well lost. We all arrived together. Just a second ago he was saying they've cancelled all the tours. They don't even have policemen going in. Just a lot of reporters and curious people outside. And policemen telling other policemen they can't go in." Her voice hardened. "Said they were as good as dead."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Henrik asked.

"Call the governor and tell her that this is unacceptable."

"I have sufficient faith they'll make it out."

"They'll make it out, all right, but that isn't the point," she fumed.

"By the time Governor Moreno can do anything about it, they'll be out. It'll save a lot of headache if we just let it lie."

"I can't believe this!"

"You're young," he said tiredly. "Of course you can't believe it."

"What has my age to do with it?" she asked. "Are people less morally inclined when they get older?"

"Yes, Jamila, they are."

"Then I want no bloody part of it!"

"Neither do I, my dear," said Henrik with mild amusement.

"Anyway," she said, taking a deep breath, "I should go so you should call Governor Moreno."

"All right, Jamila. I never thought I'd be saying this to an associate of Sonny Joon, but it's been a pleasure working with you."

"Same," she said without registering the slight on Sonny. "Goodbye." She hung up and continued down the hill.

"—don't arrest them!" a male voice spoke loudly, sounding as though he was trying not to yell but didn't really have a choice if he wanted to be heard. "Arrest _them_!"

"The ones who are tied?" said one of the police officers.

"The others helped take them out. Those three are the ones doing the selling. Yeah, I helped, but I was sent."

Dylan. She recognized the voice.

"Sent?" the police officer asked, sounding skeptical. "Who sent you?"

"The governor," Jamila spoke up. "As part of an investigation. She's going to sort all this out."

Dylan looked up when he heard her voice.

She smiled a little.

"Here, I have evidence." Dylan led them to the antiquities tent. "Artifacts in there, plus receipts and falsified records I helped them make. There are copies under my mattress. I was afraid they'd destroy some or all of the evidence, but they didn't."

In the few minutes that took, Jamila looked around. The diplomats—or whoever they were—were talking to the diggers, some sitting down with them. The policemen continued their interrogation with notepads, heads very still, occasionally bobbing up and down with the movements of their pencils.

Finally Dylan came out of the tent and walked away briskly before the police officer could catch up. For a second he slowed, wondering where he should go, before his eyes locked on Jamila and he stopped completely.

Then he bounded over, adjusting his hat, relief evident in his easy posture. "Jamila!" he called. "You're here!"

"I'm here," she repeated with a firm nod.

"Boy am I glad to see you," he said. "Ritz or better for dinner, and I'm getting you flowers too."

"Still not holding you to it," Jamila said, laughing.

"I'm going to set up tours here, since I'm allowed to for helping. At some point I'll come back to London. And I'm taking you to dinner."

She laughed again. "If this is still about paying me back…"

"It's not about paying you back." He clasped his hands in front of him. "Look, in Egypt I sort of ignored you, and now I'm sorry for it. I want to get to know you."

For a moment she considered this, looking away. Finally, she spoke and met his eyes. "That's acceptable."

"Good." Dylan brightened. "I was rather hoping we could be friends."

She smiled again. "That, too, is acceptable."

He looked around. "This is over, isn't it?"

"Yes. They're making arrests."

"I wish the other fellows didn't have to be punished," he said. "Probably got forced into doing it. It's barely their fault."

"It is unfortunate," she agreed.

"The real criminals are right over there," Dylan nodded to the three bound figures outside the artifact tent.

"Have you heard from Nancy and Sonny?"

"No. I didn't even get to talk to them before they left."

"Well then, that's my next stop."

"Where's your next stop?"

"Loltun Cave," she told him. "That's where they are, according to Henrik. You coming?"

He looked around again. "Er, aren't we supposed to stay here? Just in case they want to talk to us?"

"I have other worries more important than what they want with me. I'll sort it out later." She turned and made her way back to the cars. "Do you have the keys to any of these?"

"No, but I know where they're kept." Beltrán had showed him at some point, sort of to counteract José making another digger accompany him on all his visits. Dylan rushed off to the antiquities tent and returned with them. "Get in."


	25. Chapter 25

As exhilarating as the caves had been to begin with, the gray wet walls very soon began to look the same no matter where Nancy turned. Venturing through them proved to be frustrating and unnerving. Not to mention that they had been here for a while. The longer these things dragged on, the harder it was for Nancy to keep her cool. This case had taken longer than most of her others, with lots more waiting time that had her itching for things to get a move on. Maybe this was what she was getting herself into. Maybe most investigations took longer than a day or a few days. She'd heard of some that took years, or, worse, went unsolved. She had little patience for those cases.

She had little patience for this one anymore, now that it began to take on the appearance of trying to untangle something so intricate that it could never fully be solved.

Those types were fine. All sorts of the bigger questions went unanswered, and Nancy didn't have to compete with the universe.

She just hoped that this case wouldn't be as fruitless as her sense was beginning to tell her. Now that the thrill of the car chase had worn off, she wasn't quite as sure that the caves were significant.

Or maybe it was just her fear making itself known, her starting to convince herself of the worst and falling irrationally into paranoia.

The fact that she couldn't tell at this point aggravated her further, and she found herself forgetting to write directions down as they turned, right, left, left, to whichever abstract location they were headed if it could even be counted as a distinct location.

They might have been walking in circles.

"Left." Sonny paused and drew a letter on his hand.

Startled, Nancy looked down at her own. Then she compared to Sonny's and counted.

She was six letters short.

Nancy tried not to be horrified. This was not a big deal. Sonny had them. She just had to be more careful. Cautiously she leaned forward, trying to read the last few letters on his hand. Her chin brushed his shoulder and before she could jump back, he was turning around. "What is it?" he asked.

"I…" her stricken gaze went out to the cave wall in front of them before returning to him. "The last few letters. What are they?"

"The last how many?"

She swallowed. "Six."

Briefly he looked surprised. Then he read off his hand. "Right left left left right left."

Quickly she scribbled these down on her paper and then on her hand before stepping ahead.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Um…" The truth would be disheartening. Oh well. "The possibility that we aren't going to find anything."

"Well, for now let's focus on finding things instead of not finding things," Sonny replied somewhat calmly. "Good to be optimistic."

But his excitement grew over the next few minutes. Soon he had a good deal of difficulty holding it down. His voice shook with it, and he walked more quickly as he muttered to himself. "The way this keeps turning… it's going to end in the center."

"Yeah? And then what?" Nancy wanted to ask. But his enthusiasm seemed so potent that she didn't want to dampen it. If there were cause to dampen it, fine. But for now there wasn't any. She was doing a better job of keeping track of their directions. She had to be; as Sonny felt he was getting closer to something, he began to regard the written directions as a hindrance. His writing became less legible. Nancy was scared that soon he'd forget altogether, so she paid more attention.

As he kept going, Nancy found it difficult to keep up the pace and still make sure she documented all their turns. When at one point she lingered behind to update them, Sonny walked back to her and grabbed her hand. "Come on!" he sang cheerily but with a hint of impatience.

Together they tore through tunnel after tunnel. Nancy thought she noticed the cave ceiling growing in height, but it could've been her imagination. Sonny kept starting again sooner after writing down every turn, taking Nancy along before she'd finished. "We need backup," she kept insisting. "Especially since we're getting so close, and if the ink smears on your hand, we're starting off with no idea of how we got here—"

"I won't smear it. I'm being careful."

"Well, what if the ink on my hand smears? What if I lose this piece of paper?" she brandished the R/L-riddled sheet in front of his face.

He looked over it and continued.

Nancy started to protest. "Sonny, I know you're excited—"

"We're doing everything we need to. And we're close, so we can relax a bit." He himself was far from it, with a set jaw and eyes that glinted with some transcendental meaning.

Okay, maybe she hadn't glanced once at the extra sets except to write more down on them, but it never hurt to be over-prepared. Especially if some water splashed on his hand without him meaning it to. Nancy knew that this underground cave had little ponds in it. She'd even seen a couple of them.

"Whoa," Sonny said suddenly.

She looked up.

They stood in a large, open space. In front of them lay a large section of rock with long white lines etched into it.

If Nancy was honest, it made her a little jealous that Sonny had seen it first. She had been too worried about directions to move forward.

"What's that pattern?" she advanced. Sonny was too stunned to move.

Then she jolted back and grabbed his elbow, dragging him forward. "Sonny, look at this!" she exclaimed. "The lines!"

Two pyramids.

One ziggurat.

"I can't believe it!" Nancy breathed. Her whole body filled with joy, joy that it had just been her fear after all. Something was here.

And they'd found it.

"This is history," Sonny said pensively, still rooted to the spot where she'd set him. "Something, isn't it?"

She turned to him, laughing, speechless, and upon finding that her arms were extended for whatever reason, threw them around him. "We found it!"

"So it was time," he said. "A find as big as this. They want this."

"And what do you want?" Nancy asked.

"I… I don't know," he admitted.

Frowning in surprise, Nancy nonetheless decided to leave it for now amidst her own growing excitement. Finding something at the opposite end of the area, she pulled away. "Something to work on, then?"

"Sure." Sonny dropped to his knees and examined a faint drawing in the center of the ground. He traced it with his finger and then, without looking away, pulled his notebook out of his backpack and began to recreate the image. Then he pulled out his camera and started snapping pictures for 30 seconds straight.

Nancy shifted. "How much longer are we going to stay here?" she asked. She was able to keep her voice level although she couldn't control bouncing on the balls of her feet a little. "We've got to tell someone about this! What we've found, what we've found here…"

Sonny turned to her with a little smile.

It wasn't a completely happy smile, not from the excited Sonny a minute before. It was wistful. Nancy frowned. "What is it?"

"They're not going to believe us, Nancy."

"What?" she sputtered. "But there's proof—"

"People are going to keep on believing what they believed yesterday. This is too big for them. The important thing is that we know."

"So you don't want to tell anyone at all?" she asked incredulously.

"Tell anyone you want."

"Then what's the problem?"

"For me, there isn't one." He stepped toward her. "I've been used to this all my life. It's new for you."

"What about all your talk about people believing you as we found the artifacts?"

"Eventually. They'll believe us eventually. When I talked about getting people to believe us, I meant as a step. It's not going to happen right away, with just this."

Nancy paused. "I don't understand," she said finally.

"You found this. You have the right to tell anyone you want. But I know that you're a detective, and a successful career as a detective depends on your credibility. If you talk about what we found here, it might make things bad for you."

"But I don't—I don't believe any aliens were here," she said. "You know that, right?"

He nodded.

"I think that this is a remarkable cultural phenomenon. That's it. That's how I would talk about it."

"Even as a remarkable cultural phenomenon, it's too big. Do you think people are going to believe that Sumer's myths somehow made it to Mayan culture? We might even get accusations of faking it."

"You're just saying that. You just want to keep this precious information to yourself and S.P.I.E.D., don't you?"

"No," he said quickly, "I want to share it when I think people will listen."

"The longer you're silent about it, the less likely they are to believe you."

"I know. But the drawings will be here for a long time, years after we're gone."

She turned away. "You're being selfish."

For a few seconds he went silent. "You're being unrealistic," he said quietly.

She snapped back toward him. "I'm being unrealistic?" she said. "I'm not the one who's been going on about aliens this whole time!" She paused and breathed in the dank air, gathering her patience. "I want to help. I want to be a part of this."

"You've always been a part of this. You might always be a part of it. But it's my life, not yours. And I know if you go out there and talk about what we found and share the backlash for it with me, you're not going to be happy. And you might be stuck."

She thought about this. "Fine," she said stiffly. "Have we seen enough now? I think it's time to go."

"Wait." Sonny held up two fingers. "There's something else here."

"Hmmm," said Nancy. She walked forward to where he stood in front of the drawing of the pyramids and the ziggurat. She sank down to a crouch and began tapping the stone to see if any of it was hollow, which would probably mean a hidden room behind it. Tapping probably wouldn't work for stone—it was best for wood—but at least it was worth a shot.

Then she noticed more white lines below the drawing, even fainter than most of the rest of it. "There's text here," she said abruptly. She recognized the pictographs.

Sonny, who was walking around the area, skidded to a stop and darted back to the drawing. "Where?" he asked eagerly.

Nancy pointed.

After making a rubbing of the drawing, he knelt next to her and started taking pictures.

"Wait," she said. "Some of it's covered by dirt."

"That isn't dirt," Sonny said as she reached to brush it off. "It's some special material."

Once Nancy's fingers made contact with that part of the stone there was a sudden movement.

She jerked her hand away.

A compartment below the text began to slide open.

She must have activated a release.

Sonny set down his camera. When he leaned forward to see what was inside, she lay an arm across his path for caution.

Some rust-colored sticks and a round object appeared when the wall had slid halfway down.

Then she saw two black holes and knew what she was looking at.

Sonny leapt back with some unintelligible utterance of disgust.

Nancy's eyes widened.

What was a skeleton doing here?

A short silence passed.

"The Mayans didn't do sacrifices," Sonny finally said, lips still twisted in a grimace.

"Then what is this?" Nancy asked. "Is this Mayan?"

"It's got to be. The other signs are there and…" Sonny trailed off. He scuttled forward. "Nancy!" he shouted suddenly while right next to her.

She jumped. "What?"

"Look at the indentations in the cloth!"

Nancy squinted. He was right. Two depressions in the cloth, each an inch wide, running up and down like suspenders.

"Inanna!" Sonny continued. She saw his hands were shaking. "The seven things! She was wearing straps like that to carry a box! And then her dress was the last step!"

At first Nancy thought Sonny was shouting because he was excited, but she realized then that she hadn't ever heard the stone stop sliding even when the skeleton compartment finished opening.

Sonny's own eyes widened. His head jerked backward to where they'd come in as if he heard something, sensed something. A moment later he pulled Nancy to her feet.

"What?" she snapped. She wanted to look at the skeleton.

Speechless, he held her chin between two fingers and pointed her head at the entrance.

Which was just about to finish sliding shut.

A moment after that the ground started to shake.

"What's happening?" Nancy asked.

"Earthquake?" Sonny guessed. They glanced at each other, sharing their fear.

The center of the room with the pattern began to crawl upward.

As soon as it became clear what it was, they both got moving.

Sonny scrambled onto the rising part of the ground, shoe skidding on the stone. "Come on!" he raised his voice over the noise.

"Yeah, I'm coming!"

"Nancy, you don't need to know the answer to this!"

Something at least made her stop and almost listen, maybe the fact that he got right to it, knew right away why she wanted to stay.

Almost like he understood.

But he didn't need the answers, she reminded herself—or he didn't think he needed the answers when really he did because otherwise no one would believe him or he'd have no reason to believe—and if he wasn't responsible enough to want to know the truth, she'd take care of it. Nancy squared her shoulders and knelt down next to the skeleton to examine it. "It's okay! Tell them to come find me!" she said. Her fingers froze over the cloth behind the skeleton. If she touched it, it would turn into dust. But was there anything behind it?

"Nancy, it's too deep in the caves and you're going to be locked in by that." He gestured at the tall stone slab that blocked them off from the way they came. "They won't be able to find you! Come on!"

She couldn't concentrate with him yelling like that. He really did freak out way too much sometimes. "I have to stay!" Her voice rose with her annoyance.

"If you stay, you are Inanna. Folklore. Zilch. That's it." He reached farther for her hand with this last word, nearly falling off.

Nancy stared long at the skeleton. Then she looked up at him.

Sonny's face tensed in the shadows. "Nancy," he said again.

She didn't move. After a moment, she opened her mouth to speak.

Sighing, Sonny leaned forward and swung his feet over the side.

Then she bolted over and climbed on. For a second they both lost their balance, and Sonny's glasses slipped off. They shattered on the ground now ten feet below.

Sonny's arm went around her as the cave ceiling slid open, revealing a wide white light. Their outside arms, his right and her left, skidded against the stone of the walls. Nancy winced. There went her carefully-marked directions. When the pedestal continued past the ground, they both tumbled off instinctively. Silently they watched as it stayed, for a few minutes, though neither remembered exactly how many. Their eyes followed it when it retreated back into the ground, leaving an indentation.

Nancy turned away. "At least now I have no misgivings about not taking cases anymore," she said stiffly.

Sonny looked around, trying to follow the sound of her voice.

"Here," she supplied.

"Thanks." He took a few steps in her direction. "What do you mean? About misgivings—"

"I've never not solved one before." Nancy's eyes darted frantically around for Sonny's camera and her extra slip of paper with the directions. She had to get back at that cave.

Unfortunately Sonny had forgotten to pick up his camera after setting it down. And the piece of paper...

Nancy checked both pockets.

Could it have slipped out?

"You weren't sure about the artifact at Pacific Run," Sonny quietly pointed out.

Still searching for the piece of paper, Nancy didn't respond right away.

"Well?" Sonny prodded.

Frustration would not help matters now, Nancy decided as her back went rigid with stress. She'd just have to look for it later. "What?" she asked irritably.

"Artifact. Pacific Run."

"And I never found Dwayne Powers again! The point is," Nancy looked past him, forcing her hands at her sides so she wouldn't continue to check her pockets for the paper, "well, the rest was out of my hands."

"This was out of your hands!" Sonny said, beginning to get frustrated.

"I could have stayed."

"Do you honestly still wish you were down there?"

Nancy blinked. "They would've found me."

"They wouldn't have found you." Sonny's eyes hardened. "The entrance is blocked. There are miles' worth of cave down there. They didn't know where we were. We didn't know where we were."

"What do you care?" Nancy looked up, eyes impaling his. "You're more attracted to danger than anyone I've ever met."

"I don't need to know what it is we found down there. Neither do you."

Her eyes widened in astonishment. "Are you serious? After all the time we've spent here trying to figure things out?"

"And yeah, the danger is cool. Dying, not so much. We found what we came here to find," Sonny continued, addressing her next question.

"So you don't even want to know?" Nancy scoffed. "That's irresponsible."

"No." His voice rose. "What's irresponsible is staying in a situation you know you can't escape when there's an escape route available."

Nancy laughed wryly. Her father had said something very similar when she'd been to Scotland.

Seeing her distress, Sonny softened. "We did the best we could."

She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. Then remembered. Turned slowly to him. "What did you mean earlier? When you called Inanna folklore?"

"Exactly what I said."

"You mean you don't believe in the myt—"

"I mean that she is a figure in a set of stories. Doesn't mean that she isn't real."

"Then what does it mean?"

"Means that nobody knows her; they only know of her."

Nancy's eyes showed her confusion.

Sonny sighed. "If you stayed down there, people would know you as the idiot who wandered off and got herself killed. Or, if you're luckier, as the hero who tried to sacrifice herself for knowledge which isn't a great thing to do, because may I remind you, knowledge isn't really useful to someone who's dead."

"Knowing doesn't stop after death." Nancy's eyes smarted as she thought of her mother.

"Know becomes knew, which is a type of know of. It's distant." He moved closer. "And you're not a story. At least, not yet. It isn't time for that. You matter to me because I know you."

Nancy looked down and twisted her hands.

"Can you not go into situations where you're going to get yourself killed for sure?" He asked. "You're too important for that."

A small smile grew on her face. "I thought you said you didn't worry about me."

"Yeah, well, I can't help it. You piss me off."

"Well at least now you know how it feels."

He shook his head in exasperation, eyes going to the side. "Don't you get it? Why you can't do things like that?"

"Will you stop freaking out? Nobody's dead."

"No. Not until you know what this means."

"What what means?"

"You and I." He bit his lip and looked back up. "You're more than just an assignment, obviously. I care about you." His eyes burned through her as he spoke. "If we do this again, you're more important than anything we find. You're a person, not a giant magnifying glass."

Nancy laughed at the last part. She couldn't help it.

Sonny rolled his eyes. "Usually people don't have to be told that. You damned overachievers. I meant it, though."

"About not being a magnifying glass? I hope."

"No." He smiled wanly. "About you being the most amazing person ever? Yes."

He pulled her to him and hooked his forearms behind her waist, tucking his head in just slightly over her shoulder. Their cheeks touched softly.

"You... you think I'm amazing?" Nancy asked, unable to speak above a whisper. Even after all the cases she'd solved and all the people she'd met, Nancy had never quite gotten used to hearing that.

But somehow she'd never been as pleased.

"When I first heard about you I couldn't get you out of my mind." Feeling wove through his voice.

Underlying regret distilled the warmth in Nancy's stomach. She ached to stay with him here, make full time of the minutes they finally had where they didn't have to worry about covers being blown, getting caught not digging, pushing themselves right up against investigation deadlines without missing them, where she could just be Nancy and he could just be Sonny. Time could have kept on going. She had just solved this case. Well, sort of—no, she corrected herself. This was something she'd have to get used to. Not every case was solvable.

There was one last deadline, though.

Sonny had to get back to his grandfather.

Soon all the problems of their lives would come back. And she didn't want that for him, not in the way right now his thumb stroked back-and-forth patterns on her cheek or he firmly held her to him, and decided that they could have it for a few seconds longer, at least. For as long as he'd been able to forget that things weren't as rosy a few thousand miles north of here.

Pulling back just enough to see her, Sonny lay his forehead across hers and slowly closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. Nancy stroked his hair and tried to keep her thoughts from racing, her worries from spreading, her sudden countless feelings from exploding her head. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and then they were kissing. Nancy couldn't even tell who had initiated it.

She leaned snugly into him, and his other hand slid up to her neck. After several frantic attempts to keep track of the time, she let go of the task against her better judgment. In the end she only knew it was way too soon when he loosened his arms and placed them at his sides. "We have to go," he said, looking at the ground.

"I know," she replied. "Right now."

"Do you know which way?"

Nancy looked at the scab now forming on her arm where there used to be marked rights and lefts, cleanly ripping away a little skin and some writing with it. She laughed. "I have no idea."

"Well." Sonny pulled out his phone. "Maybe we'll have signal now." He narrowed his eyes until they were nearly closed. "I can't see my phone. Can you find Jamila in the contacts and then call?" He blindly held it out.

Nancy leaned so she could reach it and took it from him, doing what he asked. She found his hand and placed the phone in it, and he held it up to his ear, mouthing his thanks to her. After a few rings he held it away and mouthed to Nancy, "sounds good so far." Then: "Hey, Jamila."

Nancy heard some garbled heated response.

"Yeah, I know," Sonny said. "We made it out of the cave. Sort of." Pause. "I don't know." He looked at Nancy and smiled. "Yeah, she's fine."

In the meanwhile Nancy reached into the bottle compartment of her backpack and pulled out a compass. She knew which direction they'd gone to get in the cave. She knew approximately which direction they took when they were actually inside.

And the sun was high in the sky. Northwest.

She smiled as she figured it out. "Come on," she said to Sonny. She took his hand. "So you don't have to worry about bumping into anything or getting lost."

"Wait. Hang on. I think she's figured it out. I am hurrying." Then, as he remembered the gravity of the situation, "Thanks. For everything."

It didn't take them long to cover the same distance on open terrain, especially since they could walk directly over what had been in the cave many sharp twists and turns. Even if they were tired enough to walk past it, they couldn't have. Something marked their destination.

Or somethings.

Last time they'd been at the cave entrance, nobody else was there. Now the place was teeming with reporters, diplomats, police officers, and tourists.

"We're there," Nancy announced, nudging Sonny's shoulder.

Sonny turned clumsily to her. "So. You detectives and your covers. Are we a couple of people who wandered off on the first tour or what?"

"We were never on the first tour, and that can be verified by other people who were." Nancy replied thoughtfully. "I say we wandered in right before the first tour group did. We wanted to see some of it ourselves and then planned on making it back. Only we got hopelessly lost."

"We'll go with that," Sonny agreed. As they burst into the crowd they repeated this story. Nancy couldn't help but smile at everybody. She hated reporters, but today she was able to forget about that.

A young couple from the front saw Nancy and both waved wildly. "Hi, Nancy!" they shouted in unison.

Nancy smiled at them. They must have read about her in the papers or something.

Each turned to the other and said in perplexment, "You know her?"

Then she took another look.

And double-took.

"Nick Falcone?" she asked, approaching them. "Jenna Deblin?" Normally she didn't recognize former suspects so quickly, but these two were both standouts.

"Yeah!" Nick laughed. "How's this for coincidence?!"

"What are you doing here?" Nancy asked.

"We were in the first tour group and figured we'd better stick around," Jenna said. "We were about to give the police the slip and get in there to save you guys, isn't that right?" She turned to Nick.

"Actually, I meant, what are you doing in Mexico?"

"Sort of a vacation, sort of not," said Nick.

"I suggested we come here for a vacation," Jenna explained. "He wanted to check out Dzibilchaltun because it's supposed to be this huge Mayan amphitheater."

Nancy chuckled. "I'm sorry… just… I don't… how did you two meet?"

"I was sick of working at the Hot Kettle and had talked about razing the place, and Nick rounded on me about what a beautiful building this was and how lucky I was to own it." Jenna beamed. "And when I didn't get mad back because I heard what he was saying, I knew I had found a friend."

"H.A.D.I.T. had just broken up due to lack of activity, and I was disillusioned. Traveled the whole U.S. of A." Nick readjusted his arm around her shoulder. "I stuck around Snake Horse Harbor for a few weeks, and then Jenna and I founded People for Upholding the Security of Habitats and Included Tenants, nicknamed P.U.S.H.I.T.—I had wanted to go with something closer to S.H.O.V.E.I.T., but that might alienate a few people I figured. Anyway, we decided to go a little more broad. That way there will never be a lack of activity."

"It goes for the living spaces of people, whales, or anybody," Jenna added.

"Hi," Sonny fluttered his fingers at them.

"Oh, this is Sonny Joon," said Nancy.

An expectant silence followed.

Laughing, she turned to him. "Are we dating yet?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"We're dating," she repeated to Jenna and Nick. Before either of them could reply with something saucy (and both looked like they wanted to, Nancy jumped back in. "I met them on a couple of past cases," she explained to Sonny.

"Wow, you're amazing," Sonny said without surprise.

"Isn't she?" Jenna said as Nancy blushed.

The conversation ended abruptly when a LandRover sped into sight. It screeched to a stop. The window rolled down, and Jamila's head popped out. "We haven't any time left!" she shouted.

Before Sonny could register what was happening Nancy was tugging him past all the people. "Where are we going?" he asked, looking behind him.

"That's Jamila in the car. Can't you see anything?"

"Oh!" he scampered ahead of Nancy.

"Wait!" Nancy shouted.

"I can see a big gray blur!"

"Good to know!" She caught up with him, pulling him back just before he crashed into it. Reaching for the handle, she wrenched the car door open and hopped inside, pulling Sonny along.

"Airport!" Jamila ordered. Dylan sped off.

Now Sonny looked stressed and sad about all the things on hold for him back in the States. But he was so tired his eyes started to close.

A second later, though, he opened his eyes wide, trying to stay awake. "Can't sleep," he muttered to himself, blinking. "Too many problems to take care of."

"Sleep," Nancy advised.

"Sleep now," Jamila said from the front. "You won't get a chance now for a while."

Watching his eyelids win the battle, Nancy worried for him amidst the joy of having him around, of him wanting to have her around. She scooted closer to his side, and he closed her in with an arm around her shoulder.

She pulled out a pad of paper.

Without warning her mind returned to the paper she'd lost upon leaving the cave. The last place it had been was in her hand. Now that things had calmed down a bit, the memory flooded back. She didn't have a chance to put it away before escaping.

Must have dropped it, Nancy concluded. If only she hadn't torn that page out before writing on it, she might still have it! If she reconstructed those few minutes in her memory she was fairly sure she could figure out what happened to it.

But then she remembered—forced herself to remember—that it didn't really matter.

A few minutes ago, she might have thought it did. She'd do anything, short of hurting anyone else, to get to the answers. She never thought that'd change. None of the lectures she'd gotten from her father and friends about this had made sense to her. Getting all the answers mattered, she would reaffirm afterward without fail. It always mattered.

But sitting there, next to Sonny, and sitting in spirit next to all those who inspired and supported her, including her parents, she knew now that it didn't. Moving forward was all she had to do. All she could do.

So instead she flattened the new page against the pages behind them and felt around in her backpack for her extra pen.

 _Dear Bess_ , she began.


	26. Epilogue: And Then It Came To Pass

"Hand me that?" Sonny reached for a purple suitcase.

Nancy kicked it over to him.

They stood close together at Akron-Canton Airport.

"You know the last time I asked you to hand me something?"

"No."

"It was the artifact. The one at Pacific Run."

"You're right," Nancy replied casually. "Now you don't ask at all. You just see something in my hand and grab it."

"Especially if it's a Koko Kringle bar. Speaking of which, did you bring any?"

Nancy handed over a box. "I didn't even open them," she declared.

"You're the best." He grinned and kissed her cheek. "I don't know what I'd do without these."

Nancy sighed and looked up at him with a laugh in her eyes. "Why do I feel like you're getting more out of the relationship?"

"I don't know, because I got you something."

She looked up at him curiously. "Really?"

"Yep."

They stood in silence.

"Well?"

"Oh, no. You have to find it."

"Do I?" she asked, pretending to be disappointed although the sudden sparkle in her eyes gave her away.

"Yeah. Because normally I just give things to you and that's kind of boring and this is kind of special." He shifted from one foot to the other.

"Well, I'm sure it'll be great," she said, smiling and nodding decisively. "Can't wait." She hung around the pile of suitcases around them, kicking at them idly.

"Yeah. It'll be a little better than the challenge you issued me. So you're lucky I'm not a getting even type of guy." One of his eyebrows slid upward.

"Aren't you?" she said, stepping closer and tapping the inner side of his shoe with her foot. "I expect to be challenged."

"Hmmm," he said. "Like you challenged me when you wouldn't give me Koko Kringles until I figured out how to pick the lock to the cabinet in your room all by myself?"

"Hey," she defended. "Lock-picking is a great life skill."

"Yeah, if you like looking through other people's things, sure, it's great."

"Besides," she said, twisting side to side and looking down at her hands, "I think you're great at picking locks."

"Really?" he asked with a little grin. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I have pretty high walls. I'm sort of like a lock. Before you I was impervious to all my case contacts."

He laughed lightly and pulled her to him, resting his chin on her head. "You know, if it weren't for you, I would've given up."

"Even for the prize of Koko Kringles?"

"Even for the prize of Koko Kringles. I could still buy them, you know."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Somehow I don't see that happening. You're probably not going to have any extra money after you start the program."

"Probably," Sonny agreed thoughtfully. He'd been accepted into Udub's astrobiology PhD program three weeks ago. "But I'm going to Tacoma early specifically so I can have enough money to live before starting school. Seattle's too expensive to live in, and the commute'll save money."

Nancy grinned.

"And I need Koko Kringles to live." He continued, pushing the handle of his suitcase up and down, focusing his attention on the movement. "Any news from John Jay?"

"I haven't heard back from them since they waitlisted me," Nancy began.

"Which was stupid," Sonny put in.

"They did it because they don't really consider my experience lucrative," she said with a shrug. "I haven't worked a lot with traditional crime-solving tools or tactics, like with police equipment."

"Again, stupid. You go to college so you learn that stuff."

"I get the feeling they want to make sure their students really want to go into criminology. It's risky. I guess they got the impression that I can change my mind any time about what I want to do." She paused. "I want to wait for a good school, but at the same time I'm surrounded by good schools, and I don't want to waste my life. And you know I could get the type of experience they want me to get, but then I might not want to go to college anymore by that time."

"Like the last time you tried to go to college," said Sonny. Nancy had told him about how she'd taken the semester off to visit Aunt Eloise and never went back.

"Exactly. Anyway, I feel secure in not waiting any longer on them. They wouldn't have given me a slot in time for the next semester, anyway. Temple and Arizona State both had great programs and they accepted my application. But Tacoma has the highest crime rate."

"And I don't mind commuting to Seattle at all," Sonny said, throwing her a lazy lopsided grin that sent butterflies soaring into her throat. "I mean, for the first time in my life I'm going to be thrilled to wake up early."

Swallowing, Nancy turned her mind to finally being on track for a career in private investigation. She thought about Frank Hardy, who was now a big shot up at NYSP after a successful in-depth undercover investigation of a drug ring while he was interning there. Last week he busted some crooked cops.

"Just remember, you can do whatever you want." Sonny took her hand and squeezed it. "I really don't think it's going to take much convincing for John Jay to accept you into their program. Or whatever the equivalent is for undergraduates. I don't remember my time at Brown at all."

"Yes, rub it in, you've had more education," Nancy teased, squeezing back. "And I think Udub Tacoma's program is every bit as good. Not to mention the crime rate in Tacoma. Manhattan's pretty tame nowadays."

"But Philadelphia and Tempe aren't."

"Well, I was never really too interested in the Temple and Arizona programs anyway. They would've been too inflexible. I want some time to pursue projects on the side. Besides, I'm a little biased on Udub." She sat on one of his suitcases that had fallen horizontal and propped her head up on her elbows.

He sat down next to her. "I'm not gonna complain that we're living together, especially after the last few months of meeting up just every so often. But if you decide you want to go somewhere else, that's totally your call."

"Yeah. Long distance." Nancy kicked into a suitcase and watched it topple over and skitter away a few feet. That hadn't worked for her and Ned.

"Nothing's impossible."

Then again, nothing would have worked for her and Ned, not in the long run. "Well," she amended, "not a lot is impossible. And that's not one of the things that's impossible."

"That's the spirit."

Her mind fed on the silence that followed. She thought back to the events of a few months ago. "What do you think we found?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he said, and she could tell the idea excited him. Nancy loved that. She got enough of a taste of not being credible to others to know that a life of it would drive her insane. Sonny handled it with ease, like he didn't care, and she knew he really didn't. Wisdom did not always need to be shared, and most who shared it shared it for ego and not because people needed to hear it. There were the few who didn't, like the world's great leaders.

And there was Sonny Joon.

Something poked Nancy's arm, jarring her out of her rumination.

She turned her head to look quizzically at Sonny.

"Are you trying to pick me apart again?" he asked, eyes lit up and index finger held out at the ready.

"Uh," she shrugged, trying not to give herself away by denying it too quickly. "No."

"Uh, yes," he rephrased.

"You said it yourself." She said quickly, returning to the topic of their find. "Mayans don't do sacrifices. Could it have been just a small group of Mayans that believed the Sumerian myths? Like, a cult?"

"Maybe," Sonny mused, taking the bait to Nancy's relief. "Or maybe she—whoever it was—was already dead and that was some glorified burying ritual. Members of the cult burying one of their own."

"If only we knew the cause of death," Nancy lamented.

"Wouldn't have found that out before learning about your own cause of death," he reminded her.

Nancy still didn't like hearing this even now when she knew it was true, so she changed the subject. "Are you sure none of the Mayan gods correspond to Inanna? Because I've noticed a lot of parallels between the pantheons of the old pantheistic religions I've come across. Zeus, Ra…"

"I'm almost positive. Sumerian and Greek gods? Sure. Sumerian and Egyptian gods? Probably. But remember that those all developed on the Eurasian continent. Mayan culture and religion developed a long way from there."

"It's just so strange."

"Completely strange." Sonny shook his head. He smiled, but his eyes glazed over. "Grandpa Jin called it 'curious.' He was still mulling it over when he died forty-five minutes later."

Nancy watched a plane taking off through the large glass window. She carefully considered her response.

It had been five months since they left Mexico.

Sonny hadn't talked about it at all.

"What was it like?" Nancy finally asked.

"Not as hard as I thought," Sonny replied, although his face held a stricken residue. "Mom got there, too. I think they made their peace, but I'm not either one of them so I don't know. But Grandpa Jin told me he never had to worry about Mom. She was so sensible, he knew she wouldn't get into danger."

Nancy looked at him, sharing his anguish. His eyes went to hers, sharpening again into focus.

"He wasn't afraid," Sonny continued. "In fact, the last thing he said in private to me was that he was so happy I'd be outliving him. He told me that that was the only thing he had been afraid of in his life, and now he didn't have to be afraid anymore."

He pulled her fingers tighter to his. "It wasn't as bad, then, because I realized I know exactly how he feels. And not having to worry about it anymore... well, death didn't seem so awful, especially not to someone who's old."

Nancy's heartbeat slowed. "How do you know how he feels?" she asked quietly, not daring to think she already had the answer.

"I'm trusting you to stick around." He kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry you didn't get to meet him."

"There just wasn't enough time," Nancy remembered. Immediately after arriving at Rhode Island Hospital, Nancy and Sonny had gone by an agreement they'd made on the plane: Sonny and his family would have time with Grandpa Jin first. Then Sonny would come and get her and introduce them.

It was a half-hatched plan, and a part of Nancy already knew by the time he was sprinting to the hospital entrance that Sonny wouldn't have time to come back to get her. Every moment with Jin now was precious. Sonny wouldn't leave until he was sure he wasn't missing anything.

Sure enough, Sonny had come out not an hour later, eyes coral and nearly closed from exhaustion, hugging her with all his might.

"He knew you, though. I talked about you a lot. And I'll spend however long we're together making sure you know about him."

"Good," said Nancy, shocking herself. Once upon a time, she didn't want to hear about anybody's alien theories.

But that was before she'd realized Jin was someone special to someone special.

"Something like what we found can change the world," Sonny said, changing the subject. "Someday it will. But until then, it might just cause a panic until people learn to embrace the truth." He turned to her. "Someday you're going to change the world."

Maybe other people would have preferred "You're perfect," or "I love you."

To Nancy, that was the greatest thing he could have said to her.

To be fair, neither one of them had tossed around "love" yet. But she was in no hurry to hear or say it. She knew exactly how he felt about her and she knew exactly how she felt about him. That was enough.

She wondered a little bit about whether she could take all the time with Sonny she was signing up for by moving in together.

After all, their minds went in different directions.

Fortunately, though, they often ended up at the same place.

"Sooooooo, about that thing I told you about a few minutes ago," Sonny began. "That thing I left for you. The thing you're finding. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Nancy nodded.

"Well, here's your clue: gives life without living."

Nancy frowned. "We don't have plants in the apartment yet."

Sonny rubbed the back of his neck. "Can't be plants. Plants are living."

"No, I'm talking about the soil you put it in."

"Um..." he avoided her eyes.

"It's in a flower pot, isn't it?"

Sonny nodded reluctantly. "It took me forever to think of that!" He protested.

"Try more than one clue."

"You mean I have to have more than one clue?"

"Well, yeah, probably." Nancy looked around. "It's here, isn't it?"

"Psssh, no."

Nancy threw him a skeptical stare.

"No," Sonny continued. "Uh-uh. As if. Not in a million years. In your dreams."

While he rattled off denials, Nancy's eyes stopped on a potted tree on the wall between the men's and women's restrooms. She walked five feet over to it, knelt, plucked out a blue little bag now covered in dirt, and returned to Sonny before he ever stopped talking. She had to clear her throat to get his attention.

Sonny blinked. "I got the thing for you a while ago. The idea to hide it in an airport came at five in the morning."

Smiling and shaking her head, Nancy hugged him.

Turning his head into hers, he whispered, "Open it."

Nancy stepped back and pulled the ends of the bag apart, pulling out the beginning of a chain. Impatiently she cupped her palm and tipped the bag upside-down.

A tiny gold magnifying glass fell into her hand.

"It's sort of a thank you for helping me at Usrique," he said, a tiny grin flickering onto his face as his eyes went everywhere else. "I don't know how you feel about jewelry, but—"

"I love it," Nancy assured, cutting him off.

"And you're my favorite sleuth," he continued, nudging her shoulder with his.

Even just sitting, their upper bodies had gradually turned so now they were almost facing each other. She smiled. "Help me put it on."

Right after the clasp snapped into place at the back of her neck, Nancy's phone buzzed. She took it out of her pocket and thumbed to text messages.

"I heard you're going to start college on the west coast," her most recent text read. "This is me tossing you the luck bug."

Nancy smiled.

Sonny peered over. "Who's it from?"

"Ned." She looked at the caller ID photo of him and Henry Bolet. Fortunately for Ned, Henry was done with women after Summer dumped him. That experience made his realization much easier, especially since there was nobody for him to come out to except his friends. Now, from what Nancy heard, he and Ned were very happy together. Deirdre, too, was very happy. She was the first to acknowledge and support Ned by offering to be his beard. He didn't take her up on that, but they did finally become friends.

"He's doing okay?"

"Yeah," said Nancy. Ned and Sonny had actually met when they dropped by River Heights after returning from Mexico. Well, Sonny dropped by. She was there to stay for a bit. Sonny was reasonable about it, Ned seemed to approve, and the whole situation was considerably less awkward than it could've been.

The announcer jumped into her thoughts. "Flight 3677 to Seattle-Tacoma now boarding."

Sonny stood and looked squarely at her. "You ready?"

"Ready." She pushed herself up from the suitcase.

"Awesome." He leaned in with a smile.

Nancy found that when he kissed her, it didn't ever matter where they were. Right now they were in Akron-Canton Airport, terminal B, gate 47, but above their heads she swore she could hear the faint tinkling of stars.


End file.
